Chapter II: Part 2

_Wel_. I had rather wear a Bell. But hark you Mistres, what hidden vertue is there in this Glove, that you would have me wear it? Is't good against sore eyes, or will it charm the Toothach? Or these red tops; being steept in white wine soluble, wil't kill the Itch? Or has it so conceal'd a providence to keep my hand from Bonds? If it have none of these and prove no more but a bare Glove of half a Crown a pair, 'twill be but half a courtesie, I wear two alwayes, faith let's draw cuts, one will do me no pleasure.

_Abig_. The tenderness of his years keeps him as yet in ignorance, he's a well moulded fellow, and I wonder his bloud should stir no higher; but 'tis his want of company: I must grow nearer to him.

_Enter_ Elder Loveless _disguised._

_Elder Lo_. God save you both.

_Abig_. And pardon you Sir; this is somewhat rude, how came you hither?

_Elder Lo_. Why through the doors, they are open.

_Wel_. What are you? And what business have you here?

_Elder Lo_. More I believe than you have.

_Abig_. Who would this fellow speak with? Art thou sober?

_Elder Lo_. Yes, I come not here to sleep.

_Wel_. Prethee what art thou?

_Elder Lo_. As much (gay man) as thou art, I am a Gentleman.

_Wel_. Art thou no more?

_Elder Lo_. Yes more than thou dar'st be; a Souldier.

_Abig_. Thou dost not come to quarrel?

_Elder Lo_. No, not with women; I come to speak here with a Gentlewoman.

_Abig_. Why, I am one.

_Elder Lo_. But not with one so gentle.

_Wel_. This is a fine fellow.

_Elder Lo_. Sir, I am not fine yet. I am but new come over, direct me with your ticket to your Taylor, and then I shall be fine Sir. Lady if there be a better of your Sex within this house, say I would see her.

_Abig_. Why am not I good enough for you Sir?

_Elder Lo_. Your way you'l be too good, pray end my business. This is another Sutor, O frail Woman!

_Wel_. This fellow with his bluntness hopes to do more than the long sutes of a thousand could; though he be sowre he's quick, I must not trust him. Sir, this Lady is not to speak with you, she is more serious: you smell as if you were new calkt; go and be hansome, and then you may sit with her Servingmen.

_El. Lo_. What are you Sir?

_Wel_. Guess by my outside.

_Elder Lo_. Then I take you Sir, for some new silken thing wean'd from the Country, that shall (when you come to keep good company) be beaten into better manners. Pray good proud Gentlewoman, help me to your Mistress.

_Abig_. How many lives hast thou, that thou talk'st thus rudely?

_Elder Lo_. But one, one, I am neither Cat nor Woman.

_Wel_. And will that one life, Sir, maintain you ever in such bold sawciness?

_Elder Lo_. Yes, amongst a Nation of such men as you are, and be no worse for wearing, shall I speak with this Lady?

_Abig_. No by my troth shall you not.

_Elder Lo_. I must stay here then?

_Wel_. That you shall not neither.

_Elder Lo_. Good fine thing tell me why?

_Wel_. Good angry thing I'le tell you: This is no place for such companions, Such lousie Gentlemen shall find their business Better i'th' Suburbs, there your strong pitch perfume, Mingled with lees of Ale, shall reek in fashion: This is no Thames-street, Sir.

_Abig_. This Gentleman informs you truly: Prethee be satisfied, and seek the Suburbs, Good Captain, or what ever title else, The Warlike Eele-boats have bestowed upon thee, Go and reform thy self, prethee be sweeter, And know my Lady speaks with no Swabbers.

_Elder Lo_. You cannot talk me out with your tradition Of wit you pick from Plays, go to, I have found ye: And for you, Sir, whose tender gentle blood Runs in your Nose, and makes you snuff at all, But three pil'd people, I do let you know, He that begot your worships Sattin-sute, Can make no men Sir: I will see this Lady, And with the reverence of your silkenship, In these old Ornaments.

_Wel_. You will not sure?

_Elder Lo_. Sure Sir I shall.

_Abig_. You would be beaten out?

_Elder Lo_. Indeed I would not, or if I would be beaten, Pray who shall beat me? this good Gentleman Looks as if he were o'th' peace.

_Wel_. Sir you shall see that: will you get you out?

_Elder Lo_. Yes, that, that shall correct your boys tongue. Dare you fight, I will stay here still. [_They draw._

_Abig_. O their things are out, help, help for Gods sake, Madam; Jesus they foin at one another.

_Enter_ Lady.

Madam, why, who is within there?

_Lady_. Who breeds this rudeness?

_Wel._ This uncivil fellow; He saies he comes from Sea, where I believe, H'as purg'd away his manners.

_Lady._ Why what of him?

_Wel._ Why he will rudely without once God bless you, Press to your privacies, and no denial Must stand betwixt your person and his business; I let go his ill Language.

_Lady._ Sir, have you business with me?

_Elder Lo._ Madam some I have, But not so serious to pawn my life for't: If you keep this quarter, and maintain about you Such Knights o'th' _Sun_ as this is, to defie Men of imployment to ye, you may live, But in what fame?

_Lady._ Pray stay Sir, who has wrong'd you?

_Elder Lo._ Wrong me he cannot, though uncivilly He flung his wild words at me: but to you I think he did no honour, to deny The hast I come withal, a passage to you, Though I seem course.

_Lady._ Excuse me gentle Sir, 'twas from my knowledge, And shall have no protection. And to you Sir, You have shew'd more heat than wit, and from your self Have borrowed power, I never gave you here, To do these vile unmanly things: my house Is no blind street to swagger in; and my favours Not doting yet on your unknown deserts So far, that I should make you Master of my business; My credit yet stands fairer with the people Than to be tried with swords; and they that come To do me service, must not think to win me With hazard of a murther; if your love Consist in fury, carry it to the Camp: And there in honour of some common Mistress, Shorten your youth, I pray be better temper'd: And give me leave a while Sir.

_Wel._ You must have it. [_Exit_ Welford.

_Lady._ Now Sir, your business?

_El. Lo._ First, I thank you for schooling this young fellow, Whom his own follies, which he's prone enough Daily to fall into, if you but frown, Shall level him a way to his repentance: Next, I should rail at you, but you are a Woman, And anger's lost upon you.

_Lady._ Why at me Sir? I never did you wrong, for to my knowledge This is the first sight of you.

_Elder Lo._ You have done that, I must confess I have the least curse in Because the least acquaintance: But there be (If there be honour in the minds of men) Thousands when they shall know what I deliver, (As all good men must share in't) will to shame Blast your black memory.

_Lady._ How is this good Sir?

_Elder Lo._ 'Tis that, that if you have a soul will choak it: Y'ave kill'd a Gentleman.

_Lady._ I kill'd a Gentleman!

_Elder Lo._ You and your cruelty have kill'd him Woman, And such a man (let me be angry in't) Whose least worth weighed above all womens vertues That are; I spare you all to come too: guess him now?

_Lady._ I am so innocent I cannot Sir.

_Elder Lo_. Repent you mean, you are a perfect Woman, And as the first was, made for mans undoing.

_Lady._ Sir, you have mist your way, I am not she.

_Elder Lo._ Would he had mist his way too, though he had Wandered farther than Women are ill spoken of, So he had mist this misery, you Lady.

_Lady._ How do you do, Sir?

_Elder Lo._ Well enough I hope. While I can keep my self out from temptations.

_Lady._ Leap into this matter, whither would ye?

_Elder Lo._ You had a Servant that your peevishness Injoined to Travel.

_Lady._ Such a one I have Still, and shall be griev'd 'twere otherwise.

_El. Lo._ Then have your asking, and be griev'd he's dead; How you will answer for his worth, I know not, But this I am sure, either he, or you, or both Were stark mad, else he might have liv'd To have given a stronger testimony to th' world Of what he might have been. He was a man I knew but in his evening, ten Suns after, Forc'd by a Tyrant storm our beaten Bark Bulg'd under us; in which sad parting blow, He call'd upon his Saint, but not for life, On you unhappy Woman, and whilest all Sought to preserve their Souls, he desperately Imbrac'd a Wave, crying to all that saw it, If any live, go to my Fate that forc'd me To this untimely end, and make her happy: His name was _Loveless_: And I scap't the storm, And now you have my business.

_Lady._ 'Tis too much. Would I had been that storm, he had not perisht. If you'l rail now I will forgive you Sir. Or if you'l call in more, if any more Come from this ruine, I shall justly suffer What they can say, I do confess my self A guiltie cause in this. I would say more, But grief is grown too great to be delivered.

_Elder Lo._ I like this well: these women are strange things. 'Tis somewhat of the latest now to weep, You should have wept when he was going from you, And chain'd him with those tears at home.

_La._ Would you had told me then so, these two arms had been his Sea.

_Elder Lo._ Trust me you move me much: but say he lived, these were forgotten things again.

_Lady._ I, say you so? Sure I should know that voice: this is knavery. I'le fit you for it. Were he living Sir, I would perswade you to be charitable, I, and confess we are not all so ill as your opinion holds us. O my friend, what penance shall I pull upon my fault, upon my most unworthy self for this?

_Elder Lo._ Leave to love others, 'twas some jealousie That turn'd him desperate.

_Lady._ I'le be with you straight: are you wrung there?

_Elder Lo._ This works amain upon her.

_Lady._ I do confess there is a Gentleman Has born me long good will.

_Elder Lo._ I do not like that.

_Lady._ And vow'd a thousand services to me; to me, regardless of him: But since Fate, that no power can withstand, has taken from me my first, and best love, and to weep away my youth is a mere folly, I will shew you what I determine sir: you shall know all: Call M. _Welford_ there: That Gentleman I mean to make the model of my Fortunes, and in his chast imbraces keep alive the memory of my lost lovely _Loveless_: he is somewhat like him too.

_Elder Lo._ Then you can love.

_Lady._ Yes certainly Sir? Though it please you to think me hard and cruel, I hope I shall perswade you otherwise.

_Elder Lo._ I have made my self a fine fool.

_Enter_ Welford.

_Wel._ Would you have spoke with me Madam?

_Lady._ Yes M. _Welford_, and I ask your pardon before this Gentleman for being froward: this kiss, and henceforth more affection.

_Elder Lo._ So, 'tis better I were drown'd indeed.

_Wel._ This is a sudden passion, God hold it. This fellow out of his fear sure has Perswaded her. I'le give him a new suit on't.

_La._ A parting kiss, and good Sir, let me pray you To wait me in the Gallerie.

_Wel._ I am in another world, Madam where you please. [_Exit_ Welford.

_Elder Lo._ I will to Sea, and 't shall goe hard but I'le be drown'd indeed.

_La._ Now Sir you see I am no such hard creature, But time may win me.

_Elder Lo._ You have forgot your lost Love.

_La._ Alas Sir, what would you have me do? I cannot call him back again with sorrow; I'le love this man as dearly, and beshrow me I'le keep him far enough from Sea, and 'twas told me, now I remember me, by an old wise woman, that my first Love should be drown'd, and see 'tis come about.

_Elder Lo._ I would she had told you your second should be hang'd too, and let that come about: but this is very strange.

_La._ Faith Sir, consider all, and then I know you'le be of my mind: if weeping would redeem him, I would weep still.

_Elder Lo._ But say that I were _Loveless_, And scap'd the storm, how would you answer this?

_Lady._ Why for that Gentleman I would leave all the world.

_Elder Lo._ This young thing too?

_Lady._ That young thing too, Or any young thing else: why, I would lose my state.

_Elder Lo._ Why then he lives still, I am he, your _Loveless_.

_Lady._ Alas I knew it Sir, and for that purpose prepared this Pageant: get you to your task. And leave these Players tricks, or I shall leave you, indeed I shall. Travel, or know me not.

_Elder Lo._ Will you then marry?

_Lady._ I will not promise, take your choice. Farewell.

_Elder Lo._ There is no other Purgatorie but a Woman. I must doe something. [_Exit_ Loveless.

_Enter_ Welford.

_Wel._ Mistress I am bold.

_Lady._ You are indeed.

_Wel._ You so overjoyed me Lady.

_Lady._ Take heed you surfeit not, pray fast and welcom.

_Wel._ By this light you love me extreamly.

_Lady._ By this, and to morrows light, I care not for you.

_Wel._ Come, come, you cannot hide it.

_Lady._ Indeed I can, where you shall never find it.

_Wel._ I like this mirth well Lady.

_Lady._ You shall have more on't.

_Wel._ I must kiss you.

_Lady._ No Sir.

_Wel._ Indeed I must.

_Lady._ What must be, must be; I'le take my leave, you have your parting blow: I pray commend me to those few friends you have, that sent you hither, and tell them when you travel next, 'twere fit you brought less bravery with you, and more wit, you'le never get a wife else.

_Wel._ Are you in earnest?

_Lady._ Yes faith. Will you eat Sir, your horses will be readie straight, you shall have a napkin laid in the butterie for ye.

_Wel._ Do not you love me then?

_Lady._ Yes, for that face.

_Wel._ It is a good one Ladie.

_Lady._ Yes, if it were not warpt, the fire in time may mend it.

_Wel._ Me thinks yours is none of the best Ladie.

_Lady._ No by my troth Sir; yet o' my conscience, You would make shift with it.

_Wel._ Come pray no more of this.

_Lady._ I will not: Fare you well. Ho, who's within there? bring out the Gentlemans horses, he's in haste; and set some cold meat on the Table.

_Wel._ I have too much of that I thank you Ladie: take your Chamber when you please, there goes a black one with you Ladie.

_Lady._ Farewell young man. [_Exit_ Ladie.

_Wel._ You have made me one, Farewell: and may the curse of a great house fall upon thee, I mean the Butler. The devil and all his works are in these women, would all of my sex were of my mind, I would make 'em a new Lent, and a long one, that flesh might be in more reverence with them.

_Enter Abigal to him._

_Abig._ I am sorry M. _Welford_.

_Wel._ So am I, that you are here.

_Abig._ How does my Ladie use you?

_Wel._ As I would use you, scurvilie.

_Abig._ I should have been more kind Sir.

_Wel._ I should have been undone then. Pray leave me, and look to your sweet-meats; hark, your Ladie calls.

_Abig._ Sir, I shall borrow so much time without offence.

_Wel._ Y'are nothing but offence, for Gods love leave me.

_Abig._ 'Tis strange my Ladie should be such a tyrant?

_Wel._ To send you to me, 'Pray goe stitch, good doe, y'are more trouble to me than a Term.

_Abig._ I do not know how my good will, if I said love I lied not, should any way deserve this?

_Wel._ A thousand waies, a thousand waies; sweet creature let me depart in peace.

_Abig._ What Creature Sir? I hope I am a woman.

_Wel._ A hundred I think by your noise.

_Abig._ Since you are angrie Sir, I am bold to tell you that I am a woman, and a rib.

_Wel._ Of a roasted horse.

_Abig._ Conster me that?

_Wel._ A Dog can doe it better; Farwell Countess, and commend me to your Ladie, tell her she's proud, and scurvie, and so I commit you both to your tempter.

_Abig._ Sweet Mr. _Welford_.

_Wel._ Avoid old Satanus: Go daub your ruines, your face looks fouler than a storm: the Foot-man stayes for you in the Lobby Lady.

_Abig._ If you were a Gentleman, I should know it by your gentle conditions: are these fit words to give a Gentlewoman?

_Wel._ As fit as they were made for ye: Sirrah, my horses. Farwell old Adage, keep your nose warm, the Rheum will make it horn else-- [_Exit_ Welford.

_Abig._ The blessings of a Prodigal young heir be thy companions _Welford_, marry come up my Gentleman, are your gums grown so tender they cannot bite? A skittish Filly will be your fortune _Welford_, and fair enough for such a packsaddle. And I doubt not (if my aim hold) to see her made to amble to your hand. [_Exit Abigal._

_Enter_ Young Loveless, _and_ Comrades, Morecraft, Widow, Savil, _and the rest._

_Captain._ Save thy brave shoulder, my young puissant Knight, and may thy back Sword bite them to the bone that love thee not, thou art an errant man, go on. The circumcis'd shall fall by thee. Let Land and labour fill the man that tills, thy sword must be thy plough, and _Jove_ it speed. _Mecha_ shall sweat, and _Mahomet_ shall fall, and thy dear name fill up his monument.

_Yo. L._ It shall Captain, I mean to be a Worthy.

_Cap._ One Worthy is too little, thou shalt be all.

_Mor._ Captain I shall deserve some of your love too.

_Capt._ Thou shalt have heart and hand too, noble _Morecraft_, if them wilt lend me mony. I am a man of Garrison, be rul'd, and open to me those infernal gates, whence none of thy evil Angels pass again, and I will stile thee noble, nay _Don Diego_. I'le woo thy _Infanta_ for thee, and my Knight shall feast her with high meats, and make her apt.

_Mor._ Pardon me Captain, y'are beside my meaning.

_Young Lo._ No Mr. _Morecraft_, 'tis the Captains meaning I should prepare her for ye.

_Capt._ Or provok her. Speak my modern man, I say provoke her.

_Poet._ Captain, I say so too, or stir her to it. So say the Criticks.

_Young Lo._ But howsoever you expound it sir, she's very welcom, and this shall serve for witness. And Widow, since y'are come so happily, you shall deliver up the keyes, and free possession of this house, whilst I stand by to ratifie.

_Wid._ I had rather give it back again believe me, 'Tis a miserie to say you had it. Take heed?

_Young Lo._ 'Tis past that Widow, come, sit down, some wine there, there is a scurvie banquet if we had it. All this fair house is yours Sir _Savil_?

_Savil._ Yes Sir.

_Young Lo._ Are your keyes readie, I must ease your burden.

_Sav._ I am readie Sir to be undone, when you shall call me to't.

_Young Lo._ Come come, thou shalt live better.

_Sav._ I shall have less to doe, that's all, there's half a dozen of my friends i'th' fields sunning against a bank, with half a breech among 'em, I shall be with 'em shortly. The care and continuall vexation of being rich, eat up this rascall. What shall become of my poor familie, they are no sheep, and they must keep themselves.

_Young Lo._ Drink Master _Morecraft_, pray be merrie all: Nay and you will not drink there's no societie, Captain speak loud, and drink: widow, a word.

_Cap._ Expou[n]d her throughly Knight. Here God o' gold, here's to thy fair possessions; Be a Baron and a bold one: leave off your tickling of young heirs like Trouts, and let thy Chimnies smoke. Feed men of war, live and be honest, and be saved yet.

_Mor._ I thank you worthie Captain for your counsel. You keep your Chimnies smoking there, your nostrils, and when you can, you feed a man of War, this makes you not a Baron, but a bare one: and how or when you shall be saved, let the Clark o'th' companie (you have commanded) have a just care of.

_Poet._ The man is much moved. Be not angrie Sir, but as the Poet sings, let your displeasure be a short furie, and goe out. You have spoke home, and bitterly, to me Sir. Captain take truce, the Miser is a tart and a wittie whorson--

_Cap._ Poet, you feign perdie, the wit of this man lies in his fingers ends, he must tell all; his tongue fills his mouth like a neats tongue, and only serves to lick his hungrie chaps after a purchase: his brains and brimstone are the devils diet to a fat usurers head: To her Knight, to her: clap her aboard, and stow her. Where's the brave Steward?

_Savil._ Here's your poor friend, and _Savil_ Sir.

_Capt._ Away, th'art rich in ornaments of nature. First in thy face, thou hast a serious face, a betting, bargaining, and saving face, a rich face, pawn it to the Usurer; a face to kindle the compassion of the most ignorant and frozen Justice.

_Savil._ 'Tis such I dare not shew it shortly sir.

_Capt._ Be blithe and bonny steward: Master _Morecraft_, Drink to this man of reckoning?

_Mor._ Here's e'ne to him.

_Savil._ The Devil guide it downward: would there were in't an acre of the great broom field he bought, to sweep your durtie Conscience, or to choak ye, 'tis all one to me, Usurer.

_Young Lo._ Consider what I told you, you are young, unapt for worldly business: Is it fit one of such tenderness, so delicate, so contrarie to things of care, should stir and break her better meditations, in the bare brokage of a brace of Angels? or a new Kirtel, though it be Satten? eat by the hope of surfeits, and lie down only in expectation of a morrow, that may undo some easie hearted fool, or reach a widows curses? Let out mony, whose use returns the principal? and get out of these troubles, a consuming heir: For such a one must follow necessarily, you shall die hated, if not old and miserable; and that possest wealth that you got with pining, live to see tumbled to anothers hands, that is no more a kin to you, than you to his couzenage.

_Widow._ Sir you speak well, would God that charity had first begun here.

_Young Lo._ 'Tis yet time. Be merrie, me thinks you want wine there, there's more i'th' house. Captain, where rests the health?

_Captain._ It shall goe round boy.

_Young Lo._ Say you can suffer this, because the end points at much profit, can you so far bow below your blood, below your too much beautie, to be a partner of this fellowes bed, and lie with his diseases? if you can, I will no[t] press you further: yet look upon him: there's nothing in that hide-bound Usurer, that man of mat, that all decai'd, but aches, for you to love, unless his perisht lungs, his drie cough, or his scurvie. This is truth, and so far I dare speak yet: he has yet past cure of Physick, spaw, or any diet, a primitive pox in his bones; and o' my Knowledge he has been ten times rowell'd: ye may love him; he had a bastard, his own toward issue, whipt, and then cropt for washing out the roses, in three farthings to make 'em pence.

_Widow._ I do not like these Morals.

_Young Lo._ You must not like him then.

_Enter_ Elder Love.

_Elder Lo._ By your leave Gentlemen?

_Young Lo._ By my troth sir you are welcom, welcom faith: Lord what a stranger you are grown; pray know this Gentlewoman, and if you please these friends here: we are merry, you see the worst on't; your house has been kept warm Sir.

_Elder Lo._ I am glad to hear it Brother, pray God you are wise too.

_Young Lo._ Pray Mr. _Morecraft_ know my elder Brother, and Captain do you complement. _Savil_ I dare swear is glad at heart to see you; Lord, we heard Sir you were drown'd at Sea, and see how luckily things come about!

_More._ This mony must be paid again Sir.

_Young Lo._ No Sir, pray keep the Sale, 'twill make good Tailors measures; I am well I thank you.

_Wid._ By my troth the Gentleman has stew'd him in his own Sawce, I shall love him for't.

_Sav._ I know not where I am, I am so glad: your worship is the welcom'st man alive; upon my knees I bid you welcome home: here has been such a hurry, such a din, such dismal Drinking, Swearing and Whoring, 'thas almost made me mad: we have all liv'd in a continual _Turnbal-street_; Sir, blest be Heaven, that sent you safe again, now shall I eat and go to bed again.

_Elder Lo._ Brother dismiss these people.

_Young Lo._ Captain be gone a while, meet me at my old _Randevouse_ in the evening, take your small Poet with you. Mr. _Morecraft_ you were best go prattle with your learned Counsel, I shall preserve your mony, I was couzen'd when time was, we are quit Sir.

_Wid._ Better and better still.

_Elder Lo._ What is this fellow, Brother?

_Young Lo._ The thirsty Usurer that supt my Land off.

_Elder Lo._ What does he tarry for?

_Young Lo._ Sir to be Landlord of your House and State: I was bold to make a little sale Sir.

_More._ Am I overreach'd? if there be Law I'le hamper ye.

_Elder Lo._ Prethee be gone, and rave at home, thou art so base a fool I cannot laugh at thee: Sirrah, this comes of couzening, home and spare, eat Reddish till you raise your sums again. If you stir far in this, I'le have you whipt, your ears nail'd for intelligencing o'the Pillory, and your goods forfeit: you are a stale couzener, leave my house: no more.

_More._ A pox upon your house. Come Widow, I shall yet hamper this young Gamester.

_Wid._ Good twelve i'th' hundred keep your way, I am not for your diet, marry in your own Tribe _Jew_, and get a Broker.

_Young Lo._ 'Tis well said Widow: will you jog on Sir?

_More._ Yes, I will go, but 'tis no matter whither: But when I trust a wild Fool, and a Woman, May I lend Gratis, and build Hospitals.

_Young Lo._ Nay good Sir, make all even, here's a Widow wants your good word for me, she's rich, and may renew me and my fortunes.

_Elder Lo._ I am glad you look before you. Gentlewoman, here is a poor distressed younger Brother.

_Wid._ You do him wrong Sir, he's a Knight.

_Elder Lo._ I ask you mercy: yet 'tis no matter, his Knighthood is no inheritance I take it: whatsoever he is, he is your Servant, or would be, Lady. Faith be not merciless, but make a man; he's young and handsome, though he be my Brother, and his observances may deserve your Love: he shall not fail for means.

_Wid._ Sir you speak like a worthy Brother: and so much I do credit your fair Language, that I shall love your Brother: and so love him, but I shall blush to say more.

_Elder Lo._ Stop her mouth. I hope you shall not live to know that hour when this shall be repented. Now Brother I should chide, but I'le give no distaste to your fair Mistress. I will instruct her in't and she shall do't: you have been wild and ignorant, pray mend it.

_Young Lo._ Sir, every day now Spring comes on.

_Elder Lo._ To you good Mr. _Savil_ and your Office, thus much I have to say: Y'are from my Steward become, first your own Drunkard, then his Bawd: they say y'are excellent grown in both, and perfect: give me your keys Sir _Savil_.

_Savil._ Good Sir consider whom you left me to.

_Elder Lo._ I left you as a curb for, not to provoke my Brothers follies: where's the best drink, now? come, tell me _Savil_; where's the soundest Whores? Ye old he Goat, ye dried Ape, ye lame Stallion, must you be leading in my house your Whores, like Fairies dance their night rounds, without fear either of King or Constable, within my walls? Are all my Hangings safe; my Sheep unfold yet? I hope my Plate is currant, I ha' too much on't. What say you to 300 pounds in drink now?

_Sav._ Good Sir forgive me, and but hear me speak?

_Elder Lo._ Me thinks thou shouldst be drunk still, and not speak, 'tis the more pardonable.

_Sav._ I will Sir, if you will have it so.

_Elder Lo._ I thank ye: yes, e'ne pursue it Sir: do you hear? get a Whore soon for your recreation: go look out Captain _Broken-breech_ your fellow, and Quarrel if you dare: I shall deliver these Keys to one shall have more honesty, though not so much fine wit Sir. You may walk and gather _Cresses_ fit to cool your Liver; there's something for you to begin a Diet, you'l have the Pox else. Speed you well, Sir _Savil_: you may eat at my house to preserve life; but keep no Fornication in the Stables. [_Ex. om. pr._ Savil.

_Sav._ Now must I hang my self, my friends will look for't. Eating and sleeping, I do despise you both now: I will run mad first, and if that get not pitty, I'le drown my self, to a most dismal ditty. [_Exit_ Savil.

_Actus Quartus. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Abigal _sola._

_Abigal._ Alas poor Gentlewoman, to what a misery hath Age brought thee: to what a scurvy Fortune! Thou that hast been a Companion for Noblemen, and at the worst of those times for Gentlemen: now like a broken Servingman, must beg for favour to those, that would have crawl'd like Pilgrims to my Chamber but for an Apparition of me. You that be coming on, make much of fifteen, and so till five and twenty: use your time with reverence, that your profits may arise: it will not tarry with you, _Ecce signum_: here was a face, but time that like a surfeit eats our youth, plague of his iron teeth, and draw 'em for't, has been a little bolder here than welcome: and now to say the truth, I am fit for no man. Old men i'th' house of fifty, call me Granum; and when they are drunk, e'ne then, when _Jone_ and my Lady are all one, not one will do me reason. My little Levite hath forsaken me, his silver sound of Cittern quite abolish[t], [h]is doleful _hymns_ under my Chamber window, digested into tedious learning: well fool, you leapt a Haddock when you left him: he's a clean man, and a good edifier, and twenty nobles is his state _de claro_, besides his pigs in _posse_. To this good _Homilist_ I have been ever stubborn, which God forgive me for, and mend my manners: and Love, if ever thou hadst care of forty, of such a piece of lape ground, hear my prayer, and fire his zeal so far forth that my faults in this renued impression of my love may shew corrected to our gentle reader.

_Enter_ Roger.

See how negligently he passes by me: with what an Equipage Canonical, as though he had broken the heart of _Bellarmine_, or added something to the singing Brethren. 'Tis scorn, I know it, and deserve it, Mr. _Roger_.

_Rog._ Fair Gentlewoman, my name is _Roger_.

_Abig_. Then gentle _Roger_?

_Rog_. Ungentle _Abigal_.

_Abig_. Why M'r _Roger_ will you set your wit to a weak womans?

_Rog_. You are weak indeed: for so the Poet sings.

_Abig_. I do confess my weakness, sweet Sir _Roger_.

_Rog_. Good my Ladies Gentlewoman, or my good Ladies Gentlewoman (this trope is lost to you now) leave your prating, you have a season of your first mother in ye: and surely had the Devil been in love, he had been abused too: go _Dalilah_, you make men fools, and wear Fig-breeches.

_Abi_. Well, well, hard hearted man; dilate upon the weak infirmities of women: these are fit texts, but once there was a time, would I had never seen those eyes, those eyes, those orient eyes.

_Rog_. I they were pearls once with you.

_Abi_. Saving your reverence Sir, so they are still.

_Rog_. Nay, nay, I do beseech you leave your cogging, what they are, they are, they serve me without Spectacles I thank 'em.

_Abig_. O will you kill me?

_Rog_. I do not think I can, Y'are like a Copy-hold with nine lives in't.

_Abig_. You were wont to bear a Christian fear about you: For your own worships sake.

_Rog_. I was a Christian fool then: Do you remember what a dance you led me? how I grew qualm'd in love, and was a dunce? could expound but once a quarter, and then was out too: and then out of the stinking stir you put me in, I prayed for my own issue. You do remember all this?

_Abig_. O be as then you were!

_Rog_. I thank you for it, surely I will be wiser _Abigal_: and as the Ethnick Poet sings, I will not lose my oyl and labour too. Y'are for the worshipfull I take it _Abigal_.

_Abig_. O take it so, and then I am for thee!

_Rog_. I like these tears well, and this humbling also, they are Symptomes of contrition. If I should fall into my fit again, would you not shake me into a quotidian Coxcombe? Would you not use me scurvily again, and give me possets with purging Confets in't? I tell thee Gentlewoman, thou hast been harder to me, than a long pedigree.

_Abig_. O Curate cure me: I will love thee better, dearer, longer: I will do any thing, betray the secrets of the main house-hold to thy reformation. My Ladie shall look lovingly on thy learning, and when true time shall point thee for a Parson, I will convert thy egges to penny custards, and thy tith goose shall graze and multiply.

_Rog_. I am mollified, as well shall testifie this faithfull kiss, and have a great care Mistris _Abigal_ how you depress the Spirit any more with your rebukes and mocks: for certainly the edge of such a follie cuts it self.

_Abigal_. O Sir, you have pierc'd me thorow. Here I vow a recantation to those malicious faults I ever did against you. Never more will I despise your learning, never more pin cards and cony tails upon your Cassock, never again reproach your reverend nightcap, and call it by the mangie name of murrin, never your reverend person more, and say, you look like one of _Baals_ Priests in a hanging, never again when you say grace laugh at you, nor put you out at prayers: never cramp you more, nor when you ride, get Sope and Thistles for you. No my _Roger_, these faults shall be corrected and amended, as by the tenour of my tears appears.

_Rog_. Now cannot I hold if I should be hang'd, I must crie too. Come to thine own beloved, and do even what thou wilt with me sweet, sweet _Abigal_. I am thine own for ever: here's my hand, when _Roger_ proves a recreant, hang him i'th' Bel-ropes.

_Enter_ Lady, _and_ Martha.

_Lady_. Why how now Master _Roger_, no prayers down with you to night? Did you hear the bell ring? You are courting: your flock shall fat well for it.

_Rog_. I humbly ask your pardon: I'le clap up Prayers, but stay a little, and be with you again. [_Exit_ Roger.

_Enter_ Elder Love.

_Lady_. How dare you, being so unworthie a fellow, Presume to come to move me any more?

_Elder Lo_. Ha, ha, ha.

_Lady_. What ails the fellow?

_Elder Lo_. The fellow comes to laugh at you, I tell you Ladie I would not for your Land, be such a Coxcomb, such a whining Ass, as you decreed me for when I was last here.

_Lady_. I joy to hear you are wise, 'tis a rare Jewel In an Elder Brother: pray be wiser yet.

_Elder Lo._ Me thinks I am very wise: I do not come a wooing. Indeed I'le move no more love to your Ladiship.

_Lady_. What makes you here then?

_Elder Lo_. Only to see you and be merry Ladie: that's all my business. Faith let's be very merry. Where's little _Roger_? he's a good fellow: an hour or two well spent in wholesome mirth, is worth a thousand of these puling passions. 'Tis an ill world for Lovers.

_Lady_. They were never fewer.

_Elder Lo_. I thank God there's one less for me Ladie.

_Lady_. You were never any Sir.

_Elder Lo_. Till now, and now I am the prettiest fellow.

_Lady_. You talk like a Tailor Sir.

_Elder Lo_. Me thinks your faces are no such fine things now.

_Lady_. Why did you tell me you were wise? Lord what a lying age is this, where will you mend these faces?

_Elder Lo_. A Hogs face soust is worth a hundred of 'em.

_Lady_. Sure you had a Sow to your Mother.

_Elder Lo_. She brought such fine white Pigs as you, fit for none but Parsons Ladie.

_Lady_. 'Tis well you will allow us our Clergie yet.

_Elder Lo_. That shall not save you. O that I were in love again with a wish.

_Lady_. By this light you are a scurvie fellow, pray be gone.

_Elder Lo_. You know I am a clean skin'd man.

_Lady_. Do I know it?

_Elder Lo_. Come, come, you would know it; that's as good: but not a snap, never long for't, not a snap dear Ladie.

_Lady_. Hark ye Sir, hark ye, get ye to the Suburbs, there's horse flesh for such hounds: will you goe Sir?

_Elder Lo_. Lord how I lov'd this woman, how I worshipt this prettie calf with the white face here: as I live, you were the prettiest fool to play withall, the wittiest little varlet, it would talk: Lord how it talk't! and when I angred it, it would cry out, and scratch, and eat no meat, and it would say, goe hang.

_Lady_. It will say so still, if you anger it.

_Elder Lo_. And when I askt it, if it would be married, it sent me of an errand into _France_, and would abuse me, and be glad it did so.

_Lady_. Sir this is most unmanly, pray by gon.

_Elder Lo_. And swear (even when it twitter'd to be at me) I was unhansome.

_Lady_. Have you no manners in you?

_Elder Lo_. And say my back was melted, when God he knows, I kept it at a charge: Four _Flaunders_ Mares would have been easier to me, and a Fencer.

_Lady_. You think all this is true now?

_Elder Lo_. Faith whether it be or no, 'tis too good for you. But so much for our mirth: Now have at you in earnest.

_L[a]_. There is enough Sir, I desire no more.

_El. Lo_. Yes faith, wee'l have a cast at your best parts now. And then the Devil take the worst.

_Lady_. Pray Sir no more, I am not so much affected with your commendations, 'tis almost dinner, I know they stay for you at the Ordinary.

_Elder Lo_. E'ne a short Grace, and then I am gone; You are a woman, and the proudest that ever lov'd a Coach: the scornfullest, scurviest, and most senceless woman; the greediest to be prais'd, and never mov'd though it be gross and open; the most envious, that at the poor fame of anothers face, would eat your own, and more than is your own, the paint belonging to it: of such a self opinion, that you think none can deserve your glove: and for your malice, you are so excellent, you might have been your Tempters tutor: nay, never cry.

_Lady_. Your own heart knows you wrong me: I cry for ye?

_Elder Lo_. You shall before I leave you.

_Lady_. Is all this spoke in earnest?

_Elder Lo_. Yes and more as soon as I can get it out.

_Lady_. Well out with't.

_Elder Lo_. You are, let me see.

_Lady_. One that has us'd you with too much respect.

_Elder Lo_. One that hath us'd me (since you will have it so) the basest, the most Foot-boy-like, without respect of what I was, or what you might be by me; you have us'd me, as I would use a jade, ride him off's legs, then turn him to the Commons; you have us'd me with discretion, and I thank ye. If you have many more such pretty Servants, pray build an Hospital, and when they are old, pray keep 'em for shame.

_Lady_. I cannot think yet this is serious.

_Elder Lo_. Will you have more on't?

_Lady_. No faith, there's enough if it be true: Too much by all my part; you are no Lover then?

_Elder Lo_. No, I had rather be a Carrier.

_Lady_. Why the Gods amend all.

_Elder Lo_. Neither do I think there can be such a fellow found i'th' world, to be in love with such a froward woman, if there be such, they're mad, _Jove_ comfort 'em. Now you have all, and I as new a man, as light, and spirited, that I feel my self clean through another creature. O 'tis brave to be ones own man, I can see you now as I would see a Picture, sit all day by you and never kiss your hand: hear you sing, and never fall backward: but with as set a temper, as I would hear a Fidler, rise and thank you. I can now keep my mony in my purse, that still was gadding out for Scarfes and Wastcoats: and keep my hand from Mercers sheep-skins finely. I can eat mutton now, and feast my self with my two shillings, and can see a play for eighteen pence again: I can my Ladie.

_Lady_. The carriage of this fellow vexes me. Sir, pray let me speak a little private with you, I must not suffer this.

_Elder Lo_. Ha, ha, ha, what would you with me? You will not ravish me? Now, your set speech?

_Lady_. Thou perjur'd man.

_Elder Lo_. Ha, ha, ha, this is a fine _exordium_. And why I pray you perjur'd?

_Lady_. Did you not swear a thousand thousand times you lov'd me best of all things?

_Elder Lo_. I do confess it: make your best of that.

_Lady_. Why do you say you do not then?

_Elder Lo_. Nay I'le swear it, And give sufficient reason, your own usage.

_Lady_. Do you not love me then?

_Elder Lo_. No faith.

_Lady_. Did you ever think I lov'd you dearly?

_Elder Lo_. Yes, but I see but rotten fruits on't.

_Lady_. Do not denie your hand for I must kiss it, and take my last farewell, now let me die so you be happy.

_El. Lo_. I am too foolish: Ladie speak dear Ladie.

_Lady_. No let me die. _She swounds._

_Mar_. Oh my Sister!

_Abi_. O my Ladie help, help.

_Mar_. Run for some _Rosalis_!

_Elder Lo_. I have plaid the fine ass: bend her bodie, Lady, best, dearest, worthiest Lady, hear your Servant, I am not as I shew'd: O wretched fool, to fling away the Jewel of thy life thus. Give her more air, see she begins to stir, sweet Mistress hear me!

_Lady_. Is my Servant well?

_Elder Lo_. In being yours I am so.

_Lady_. Then I care not.

_Elder Lo_. How do ye, reach a chair there; I confess my fault not pardonable, in pursuing thus upon such tenderness my wilfull error; but had I known it would have wrought thus with ye, thus strangely, not the world had won me to it, and let not (my best Ladie) any word spoke to my end disturb your quiet peace: for sooner shall you know a general ruine, than my faith broken. Do not doubt this Mistris, for by my life I cannot live without you. Come, come, you shall not grieve, rather be angrie, and heap infliction upon me: I will suffer. O I could curse my self, pray smile upon me. Upon my faith it was but a trick to trie you, knowing you lov'd me dearlie, and yet strangely that you would never shew it, though my means was all humilitie.

_All_. Ha, ha.

_Elder Lo_. How now?

_Lady_. I thank you fine fool for your most fine plot; this was a subtile one, a stiff device to have caught Dottrels with. Good senceless Sir, could you imagine I should swound for you, and know your self to be an arrant ass? I, a discovered one. 'Tis quit I thank you Sir. Ha, ha, ha.

_Mar_. Take heed Sir, she may chance to swound again.

_All_. Ha, ha, ha.

_Abi_. Step to her Sir, see how she changes colour.

_Elder Lo_. I'le goe to hell first, and be better welcom. I am fool'd, I do confess it, finely fool'd, Ladie, fool'd Madam, and I thank you for it.

_Lady_. Faith 'tis not so much worth Sir: But if I knew when you come next a burding, I'le have a stronger noose to hold the Woodcock.

_All_. Ha, ha, ha.

_Elder Lo_. I am glad to see you merry, pray laugh on.

_Mar_. H'ad a hard heart that could not laugh at you Sir, ha, ha, ha.

_Lady_. Pray Sister do not laugh, you'le anger him, And then hee'l rail like a rude Costermonger, That School-boys had couzened of his Apples, As loud and senceless.

_Elder Lo_. I will not rail.

_Mar_. Faith then let's hear him Sister.

_Elder Lo_. Yes, you shall hear me.

_Lady_. Shall we be the better by it then?

_Eld. L_. No, he that makes a woman better by his words, I'le have him Sainted: blows will not doe it.

_Lady_. By this light hee'll beat us.

_Elder Lo_. You do deserve it richly, And may live to have a Beadle doe it.

_Lady_. Now he rails.

_Elder Lo_. Come scornfull Folly, If this be railing, you shall hear me rail.

_Lady_. Pray put it in good words then.

_Elder Lo_. The worst are good enough for such a trifle, Such a proud piece of Cobweblawn.

_Lady_. You bite Sir?

_Elder Lo_. I would till the bones crackt, and I had my will.

_Mar_. We had best muzzel him, he grows mad.

_Elder Lo_. I would 'twere lawfull in the next great sickness to have the Dogs spared, those harmless creatures, and knock i'th' head these hot continual plagues, women, that are more infectious. I hope the State will think on't.

_Lady_. Are you well Sir?

_Mar_. He looks as though he had a grievous fit o'th' Colick.

_Elder Lo_. Green-ginger will cure me.

_Abig_. I'le heat a trencher for him.

_Elder Lo_. Durty _December_ doe, Thou with a face as old as _Erra Pater_, such a Prognosticating nose: thou thing that ten years since has left to be a woman, outworn the expectation of a Baud; and thy dry bones can reach at nothing now, but gords or ninepins, pray goe fetch a trencher goe.

_Lady_. Let him alone, he's crack't.

_Abig_. I'le see him hang'd first, is a beastly fellow to use a woman of my breeding thus; I marry is he: would I were a man, I'de make him eat his Knaves words!

_Elder Lo_. Tie your she Otter up, good Lady folly, she stinks worse than a Bear-baiting.

_Lady_. Why will you be angry now?

_Elder Lo_. Goe paint and purge, call in your kennel with you: you a Lady?

_Abi_. Sirra, look to't against the quarter Sessions, if there be good behaviour in the world, I'le have thee bound to it.

_Elder Lo_. You must not seek it in your Ladies house then; pray send this Ferret home, and spin good _Abigal_. And Madam, that your Ladiship may know, in what base manner you have us'd my service, I do from this hour hate thee heartily; and though your folly should whip you to repentance, and waken you at length to see my wrongs, 'tis not the endeavour of your life shall win me; not all the friends you have, intercession, nor your submissive letters, though they spoke as many tears as words; not your knees grown to th' ground in penitence, nor all your state, to kiss you; nor my pardon, nor will to give you Christian burial, if you dye thus; so farewell. When I am married and made sure, I'le come and visit you again, and vex you Ladie. By all my hopes I'le be a torment to you, worse than a tedious winter. I know you will recant and sue to me, but save that labour: I'le rather love a fever and continual thirst, rather contract my youth to drink and sacerdote upon quarrels, or take a drawn whore from an Hospital, that time, diseases, and _Mercury_ had eaten, than to be drawn to love you.

_Lady_. Ha, ha, ha, pray do, but take heed though.

_Elder Lo_. From thee, false dice, jades, Cowards, and plaguy Summers, good Lord deliver me. [_Exit_ Elder Love.

_Lady_. But hark you Servant, hark ye: is he gon? call him again.

_Abigal_. Hang him Paddock.

_Lady_. Art thou here still? flie, flie, and call my Servant, flie or ne'r see me more.

_Abigal_. I had rather knit again than see that rascall, but I must doe it. [_Exit_ Abigal.

_Lady_. I would be loth to anger him too much; what fine foolery is this in a woman, to use those men most forwardly they love most? If I should lose him thus, I were rightly served. I hope he's not so much himself, to take it to th'heart: how now? will he come back?

_Enter_ Abigal.

_Abig_. Never, he swears, whilst he can hear men say there's any woman living: he swore he would ha' me first.

_Lady_. Didst thou intreat him wench?

_Abigal_. As well as I could Madam. But this is still your way, to love being absent, and when he's with you, laugh at him and abuse him. There's another way if you could hit on't.

_Lady_. Thou saist true, get me paper, pen and ink, I'le write to him, I'de be loth he should sleep in's anger. Women are most fools when they think th'are wisest. [_Ex. Omnes._

_Musick. Enter_ Young Loveless, _and_ Widow, _going to be Married, with them his_ Comrades.

_Widow_. Pray Sir cast off these fellows, as unfitting for your bare knowledge, and far more your companie: is't fit such Ragamuffins as these are should bear the name of friends? and furnish out a civil house? ye're to be married now, and men that love you must expect a course far from your old carrier: if you will keep 'em, turn 'em to th' stable, and there make 'em grooms: and yet now consider it, such beggars once set o' horse back, you have heard will ride, how far you had best to look.

_Captain_. Hear you, you that must be Ladie, pray content your self and think upon your carriage soon at night, what dressing will best take your Knight, what wastcote, what cordial will do well i'th' morning for him, what triers have you?

_Widow_. What do you mean Sir?

_Capt_. Those that must switch him up: if he start well, fear not but cry Saint _George_, and bear him hard: when you perceive his wind growes hot and wanting, let him a little down, he's fleet, ne're doubt him, and stands sound.

_Widow_. Sir, you hear these fellows?

_Young Love_. Merrie companions, wench, Merry companions.

_Widow_. To one another let 'em be companions, but good Sir not to you: you shall be civil and slip off these base trappings.

_Cap_. He shall not need, my most swee[t] Ladie Grocer, if he be civil, not your powdered Sugar, nor your Raisins shall perswade the Captain to live a Coxcomb with him; let him be civil and eat i'th' _Arches_, and see what will come on't.