Chapter XIX: Act II: Scene I

_A Room in an Inn._

_Enter_ PHŒNIX _and_ FIDELIO.

PHŒ. Fear not me, Fidelio: become you that invisible
ropemaker the scrivener, that binds a man as he walks,
yet all his joints at liberty, as well as I’ll fit that
common folly of gentry, the easy-affecting venturer; and
no doubt our purpose will arrive most happily.
FID. Chaste duty, my lord, works powerfully in me; and
rather than the poor lady my mother should fall upon the
common side of rumour to beggar her name, I would not
only undergo all habits, offices, disguised professions,
though e’en opposite to the temper my blood holds; but
in the stainless quarrel of her reputation, alter my
shape for ever.
PHŒ. I love thee wealthier; thou hast a noble
touch:[836] and by this means, which is the only safe
means to preserve thy mother from such an ugly land and
sea monster as a counterfeit captain is, he resigning
and basely selling all his estate, title, right, and
interest in his lady, as the form of the writing shall
testify,
What otherwise can follow but to have
A lady safe deliver’d of a knave?
FID. I am in debt my life to the free goodness of your
inventions.
PHŒ. O, they must ever strive to be so good!
Who sells his vow is stamp’d the slave of blood.
[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_A Room in the_ CAPTAIN’S _House_.

_Enter_ CAPTAIN, _and_ CASTIZA _following him_.

CAP. Away!
CAS. Captain, my husband——
CAP. Hence! we’re at a price for thee, at a price;
Wants but the telling and the sealing; then——
CAS. Have you no sense, neither of my good name
Or your own credit?
CAP. Credit? pox of credit,
That makes me owe so much! it had been
Better for me by a thousand royals[837]
I had lost my credit seven year ago.
It has[838] undone me: that’s it that makes me fly:
What need I to sea else, in the spring-time,
When woods have leaves, to look upon bald oak?
Happier that man, say I, whom no man trusts!
It makes him valiant, dares outface the prisons;
Upon whose carcass no gown’d raven jets:[839]
O, he that has no credit owes no debts!
’Tis time I were rid on’t.
CAS. O, why do you
So wilfully cherish your own poison,
And breathe against the best of life, chaste credit?
Well may I call it chaste; for, like a maid,
Once falsely broke, it ever lives decay’d.
O captain, husband! you name that dishonest,
By whose good power all that are honest live:
What madness is it to speak ill of that,
Which makes all men speak well! Take away credit,
By which men amongst men are well reputed,
That man may live, but still lives executed.
O, then, shew pity to that noble title,
Which else you do usurp! you’re no true captain,
To let your enemies lead you: foul disdain
And everlasting scandal, O, believe it!
The money you receive for my good name
Will not be half enough to pay your shame.
CAP. No? I’ll sell thee then to the smock: see, here
comes
My honourable chapman.

_Enter_ PRODITOR _and Lackey_.

CAS. O my poison!
Him whom mine honour and mine eye abhors. [_Exit._
PROD. Lady,—what, so unjovially departed?
CAP. Fine she-policy! she makes my back her bolster; but
before my face she not endures him: tricks!
PROD. Captain, how haps it she remov’d so
strangely?[840]
CAP. O, for modesty’s cause, awhile, my lord,
She must restrain herself; she’s not yours yet.
Beside, it were not wisdom to appear
Easy before my sight.
Faugh! wherefore serves modesty but to pleasure a lady
now and then, and help her from suspect? that’s the best
use ’tis put to.
PROD. Well observed of a captain!
CAP. No doubt you’ll be soon friends, my lord.
PROD. I think no less.
CAP. And make what haste I can to my ship, I durst wager
you’ll be under sail before me.
PROD. A pleasant voyage, captain!
CAP. Ay, a very pleasant voyage as can be. I see the
hour is ripe:

Here comes the prison’s bawd, the bond-maker,
One that binds heirs before they are begot.
PROD. And here are the crowns, captain.
[_Giving him money._

_Enter_ PHŒNIX _and_ FIDELIO, _both disguised_.

Go, attend: let our bay-courser wait.
LACKEY. It shall be obeyed. [_Exit._
CAP. A farmer’s son, is’t true?
FID. Has crowns to scatter.
CAP. I give you your salute, sir.
PHŒ. I take it not unthankfully, sir.
CAP. I hear a good report of you, sir; you’ve money.
PHŒ. I have so, true.
CAP. An excellent virtue.
PHŒ. Ay, to keep from you. [_Aside._
Hear you me, captain? I have a certain generous itch,
sir, to lose a few angels[841] in the way of profit:
’tis but a game at tennis, where, if

The ship keep above line, ’tis three to one;
If not, there’s but three hundred angels gone.
CAP. Is your venture three hundred? you’re very
preciously welcome: here’s a voyage toward[842] will
make us all——
PHŒ. Beggarly fools and swarming knaves. [_Aside._
PROD. Captain, what’s he?
CAP. Fear him not, my lord; he’s a gull: he ventures
with me; some filthy farmer’s son; the father’s a Jew,
and the son a gentleman: faugh!
PROD. Yet he should be a Jew too, for he is new come
from giving over swine.
CAP. Why, that in our country makes him a gentleman.
PROD. Go to; tell your money, captain.
CAP. Read aloft, scrivener.—One, two.
[_Counting the money._
FID. [_reads._] _To all good and honest Christian
people, to whom this present writing shall come: know
you for a certain, that I captain, for and in the
consideration of the sum of five hundred crowns, have
clearly bargained, sold, given, granted, assigned, and
set over, and by these presents do clearly bargain,
sell, give, grant, assign, and set over, all the right,
estate, title, interest, demand, possession, and term of
years to come, which I the said captain have, or ought
to have_——
PHŒ. If I were as good as I should be. [_Aside._
FID. _In and to Madonna Castiza, my most virtuous,
modest, loving, and obedient wife_——
CAP. By my troth, my lord, and so she is.—Three, four,
five, six, seven. [_Counting the money._
PHŒ. The more slave he that says it, and not sees it.
[_Aside._
FID. _Together with all and singular those admirable
qualities with which her noble breast is furnished._
CAP. Well said, scrivener; hast put ’em all in?—You
shall hear now, my lord.
FID. _In primis, the beauties of her mind, chastity,
temperance, and, above all, patience_——
CAP. You have bought a jewel, i’faith, my lord.—Nine and
thirty, forty. [_Counting the money._
FID. _Excellent in the best of music, in voice
delicious, in conference wise and pleasing, of age
contentful, neither too young to be apish, nor too old
to be sottish_——
CAP. You have bought as lovely a pennyworth, my lord, as
e’er you bought in your life.
PROD. Why should I buy her else, captain?
FID. _And which is the best of a wife, a most
comfortable sweet companion._
CAP. I could not afford her so, i’faith, but that I am
going to sea, and have need of money.
FID. _A most comfortable sweet companion._
PROD. What, again? the scrivener reads in passion.[843]
FID. I read as the words move me; yet if that be a
fault, it shall be seen no more:—_which said Madonna
Castiza lying and yet being in the occupation of the
said captain_——
CAP. Nineteen—[_counting the money_]—occupation?
Pox on’t, out with occupation; a captain is of no
occupation, man.
PHŒ. Nor thou of no religion. [_Aside._
FID. Now I come to the _habendum_,—_to have and to hold,
use, and_——
CAP. Use? put out use too, for shame, till we are all
gone, I prithee.
FID. _And to be acquitted of and from all former
bargains, former sales_——
CAP. Former sales?—nine and twenty, thirty—[_counting
the money_]—by my troth, my lord, this is the first time
that ever I sold her.
PROD. Yet the writing must run so, captain.
CAP. Let it run on then,—nine and forty, fifty.
[_Counting the money._
FID. _Former sales, gifts, grants, surrenders, re-
entries_——
CAP. For re-entries I will not swear for her.
FID. _And furthermore, I the said, of and for the
consideration of the sum of five hundred crowns to set
me aboard, before these presents, utterly disclaim for
ever any title, estate, right, interest, demand, or
possession in or to the said Madonna Castiza, my late
virtuous and unfortunate wife_——
PHŒ. Unfortunate indeed! that was well plac’d.
[_Aside._
FID. _As also neither to touch, attempt, molest, or
incumber any part or parts whatsoever, either to be
named or not to be named, either hidden or unhidden,
either those that boldly look abroad, or those that dare
not shew their face[s]_——
CAP. Faces? I know what you mean by faces: scrivener,
there’s a great figure in faces.
FID. _In witness whereof, I the said captain have
interchangeably set to my hand and seal, in presence of
all these, the day and date above written._
CAP. Very good, sir; I’ll be ready for you
presently—four hundred and twenty, one, two, three,
four, five. [_Counting the money._
PHŒ. Of all deeds yet this strikes the deepest wound
Into my apprehension.
Reverend and honourable Matrimony,[844]
Mother of lawful sweets, unshamed mornings,
Dangerless pleasures! thou that mak’st the bed
Both pleasant and legitimately fruitful!
Without thee,[845]
All the whole world were soiled bastardy.
Thou art the only and the greatest form
That put’st a difference between our desires
And the disorder’d appetites of beasts,
Making their mates those that stand next their lusts.
Then,—
With what base injury is thy goodness paid!
First, rare to have a bride commence a maid,
But does beguile joy of the purity,
And is made strict by power of drugs and art,
An artificial maid, a doctor’d virgin,
And so deceives the glory of his bed;
A foul contempt against the spotless power
Of sacred wedlock! But if chaste and honest,
There is another devil haunts marriage—
None fondly loves but knows it—jealousy,
That wedlock’s[846] yellow sickness,
That whispering separation every minute,
And thus the curse takes his effect or progress.
The most of men in their first sudden furies
Rail at the narrow bounds of marriage,
And call’t a prison; then it is most just,
That the disease a’ th’ prison, jealousy,
Should still affect a’m.[847] But O! here I am fix’d,
To make sale of a wife, monstrous and foul,
An act abhorr’d in nature, cold in soul:
Who that has man in him could so resign
To make his shame the posy to the coin?
CAP. Right, i’faith, my lord; fully five hundred.
PROD. I said how you should find it, captain; and with
this competent sum you rest amply contented?
CAP. Amply contented.
FID. Here’s the pen, captain: your name to the sale.
CAP. ’S foot, dost take me to be a penman? I protest I
could ne’er write more than A B C, those three letters,
in my life.
FID. Why, those will serve, captain.
CAP. I could ne’er get further.
PHŒ. Would you have got further than A B C? Ah, base
captain! that’s far enough, i’faith.
FID. Take the seal off, captain.
CAP. It goes on hardly, and comes off easily.
PHŒ. Ay, just like a coward.
FID. Will you write witness, gentleman?
CAP. He? he shall. Prithee, come and set thy hand for
witness, rogue: thou shalt venture with me?
PHŒ. Nay, then I ha’ reason, captain, that commands me.
[_Writes._
CAP. What a fair fist the pretty whorson writes, as if
he had had manners and bringing up! A farmer’s son! his
father damns himself to sell musty corn, while he
ventures the money: ’twill prosper well at sea, no
doubt; he shall ne’er see’t again.
FID. So, captain, you deliver this as your deed?
CAP. As my deed; what else, sir?
PHŒ. The ugliest deed that e’er mine eye did witness.
[_Aside._
CAP. So, my lord, you have her; clip[848] her, enjoy
her; she’s your own: and let me be proud to tell you
now, my lord, she’s as good a soul if a man had a mind
to live honest and keep a wench, the kindest, sweetest,
comfortablest rogue——
PROD. Hark in thine ear,—
The baser slave art thou; and so I’ll tell her:
I love the pearl thou sold’st, hate thee the seller.
Go to sea; the end of thee—is lousy.
CAP. This [is] fine work! a very brave end, hum——
PROD. Well thought upon, this scrivener may furnish
me. _Whispers_ FIDELIO.
PHŒ. Why should this fellow be a lord by birth,
Being by blood a knave, one that would sell
His lordship if he lik’d her ladyship? [_Aside._
FID. Yes, my lord.
PHŒ. What’s here now?
PROD. I have employment for a trusty fellow,
Bold, sure,—
FID. What if he be a knave, my lord?
PROD. There thou com’st to me: why, he should be so;
And men of your quill are not unacquainted.
FID. Indeed all[849] our chief living, my lord, is by
fools and knaves; we could not keep open shop else;
fools that enter into bonds, and knaves that bind ’em.
PROD. Why, now we meet.
FID. And, as my memory happily leads me, I know a fellow
of a standing estate, never flowing:
I durst convey treason into his bosom,
And keep it safe nine years.
PROD. A goodly time.
FID. And if need were, would press to an attempt,
And cleave to desperate action.
PROD. That last fits me;
Thou hast the measure right: look I hear from thee.
FID. With duteous speed.
PROD. Expect a large reward.—
I will find time of her to find regard. [_Exit._
CAP. The end of me is lousy!
FID. O my lord, I have strange words to tell you!
PHŒ. Stranger yet?
I’ll choose some other hour to listen to thee;
I am yet sick of this. Discover quickly.[850]
FID. Why, will you make yourself known, my lord?
PHŒ. Ay:
Who scourgeth sin let him do’t dreadfully.
CAP. Pox of his dissemblance! I will to sea.
PHŒ. Nay, you shall to sea, thou wouldst poison the
whole land else. [_Aside._]—Why, how now, captain?
CAP. In health.
FID. What, drooping?
PHŒ. Or ashamed of the sale of thine own wife?
CAP. You might count me an ass then, i’faith.
PHŒ. If not ashamed of that, what can you be ashamed of
then?
CAP. Prithee ha’ done; I am ashamed of nothing.
PHŒ. I easily believe that. [_Aside._
CAP. This lord sticks in my stomach.
PHŒ. How? take one of thy feathers down, and fetch him
up.
FID. I’d make him come.
PHŒ. But what if the duke should hear of this?
FID. Ay, or your son-in-law Fidelio know[851] of the
sale of his mother?
CAP. What and[852] they did? I sell none but mine own.
As for the duke, he’s abroad by this time; and for
Fidelio, he’s in labour.
PHŒ. He in labour?
CAP. What call you travelling?
PHŒ. That’s true: but let me tell you, captain, whether
the duke hear on’t, or Fidelio know on’t, or both, or
neither, ’twas a most filthy, loathsome part——
FID. A base, unnatural deed——
[_They discover themselves, and lay hands on him._
CAP. Slave, and fool——Ha, who? O!——
PHŒ. Thou hateful villain! thou shouldst choose to
sink,
To keep thy baseness shrouded.

_Enter_ CASTIZA.

FID. Ugly wretch!
CAS. Who hath laid violence upon my husband,
My dear sweet captain? Help!
PHŒ. Lady, you wrong your value:
Call you him dear that has sold you so cheap?
CAS. I do beseech your pardon, good my lord.
[_Kneels._
PHŒ. Rise.
FID. My abused mother!
CAS. My kind son!
Whose liking I neglected in this match.
FID. Not that alone, but your far happier fortunes.
CAP. Is this the scrivener and the farmer’s son?
Fire on his lordship! he told me they travell’d.
PHŒ. And see the sum told out to buy that jewel,
More precious in a woman than her eye,
Her honour.—
Nay, take it to you, lady; and I judge it
Too slight a recompense for your great wrong,
But that his riddance helps it.
CAP. ’S foot, he undoes me! I’m[853] a rogue and a
beggar:
The Egyptian plague creeps over me already;
I begin to be lousy.
PHŒ. Thus happily prevented, you’re set free,
Or else made over to adultery.
CAS. To heaven and to you my modest thanks.
PHŒ. Monster, to sea! spit thy abhorred foam
Where it may do least harm; there’s air and room;
Thou’rt dangerous in a chamber, virulent venom
Unto a lady’s name and her chaste breath.
If past this evening’s verge the dukedom hold thee,
Thou art reserv’d for abject punishment.
CAP. I do beseech your good lordship, consider the state
of a poor downcast captain.
PHŒ. Captain? off with that noble title! thou becomest
it vildly;[854] I ne’er saw the name fit worse: I’ll
sooner allow a pander a captain than thee.
CAP. More’s the pity.
PHŒ. Sue to thy lady for pardon.
CAS. I give it without suit.
CAP. I do beseech your ladyship not so much for
pardon, as to bestow a few of those crowns upon a
poor unfeathered rover, that will as truly pray
for you,—and wish you hanged, [_aside_]—as any man
breathing.
CAS. I give it freely all.
PHŒ. Nay, by your favour;
I will contain[855] you, lady.—Here, be gone:
Use slaves like slaves: wealth keeps their faults
unknown.
CAP. Well, I’m yet glad I’ve liberty and these:
The land has plagu’d me, and I’ll plague the seas.
[_Exit._
PHŒ. The scene is clear’d, the bane of brightness
fled;
Who sought the death of honour is struck dead.—
Come, modest lady.
FID. My most honest mother!
PHŒ. Thy virtue shall live safe from reach of shames:
That act ends nobly preserves ladies’ fames.
[_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_A Room in_ FALSO’s _House_.

_Enter_ FALSO, KNIGHT, _and_ JEWELLER’S WIFE.

FAL. Why, this is but the second time of your coming,
kinsman; visit me oftener.—Daughter, I charge you bring
this gentleman along with you:—gentleman! I cry ye
mercy, sir; I call you gentleman still; I forget you’re
but a knight; you must pardon me, sir.
KNIGHT. For your worship’s kindness—worship! I cry you
mercy, sir; I call you worshipful still; I forget you’re
but a justice.
FAL. I am no more, i’faith.
KNIGHT. You must pardon me, sir.
FAL. ’Tis quickly done, sir: you see I make bold with
you, kinsman, thrust my daughter and you into one
chamber.
KNIGHT. Best of all, sir: kindred you know may lie any
where.
FAL. True, true, sir.—Daughter, receive your blessing:
take heed the coach jopper not too much; have a care to
the fruits of your body.—Look to her, kinsman.
KNIGHT. Fear it not, sir.
JEW. WIFE. Nay, father, though I say it, that should not
say it, he looks to me more like a husband than a
kinsman.
FAL. I hear good commendations of you, sir.
KNIGHT. You hear the worst of me, I hope, sir: I salute
my leave, sir.
FAL. You’re welcome all over your body, sir. [_Exeunt_
KNIGHT _and_ JEWELLER’S WIFE.]—Nay, I can behave myself
courtly, though I keep house i’ th’ country. What, does
my niece hide herself? not present, ha?—Latronello.

_Enter_ LATRONELLO.

LAT. Sir.
FAL. Call my niece to me.
LAT. Yes, sir. [_Exit._
FAL. A foolish, coy, bashful thing it is; she’s afraid
to lie with her own uncle: I’d do her no harm, i’faith.
I keep myself a widower a’ purpose, yet the foolish girl
will not look into’t: she should have all, i’faith; she
knows I have but a time, cannot hold long. See, where
she comes.

_Enter_ NIECE.

Pray, who[856] am I, niece?
NIECE. I hope you’re yourself,
Uncle to me, and brother to my father.
FAL. O, am I so? it does not appear so, for
surely you would love your father’s brother for
your father’s sake, your uncle for your own sake.
NIECE. I do so.
FAL. Nay, you do nothing, niece.
NIECE. In that love which becomes you best I love you.
FAL. How should I know that love becomes me best?
NIECE. Because ’tis chaste and honourable.
FAL. Honourable? it cannot become me then, niece,
For I’m scarce worshipful. Is this an age
To entertain bare love without the fruits?
When I receiv’d thee first, I look’d
Thou shouldst have been a wife unto my house,
And sav’d me from the charge of marriage.
Do you think your father’s five thousand pound would
ha’ made me take you else? no, you should ne’er ha’[857]
been a charge to me. As far as I can perceive yet by
you, I’ve as much need to marry as e’er I had: would not
this be a great grief to your friends, think you, if
they were alive again?
NIECE. ’Twould be a grief indeed.
FAL. You have[858] confess’d,
All about house, that young Fidelio,
Who in his travels does attend the prince,
Is your vow’d love.
NIECE. Most true, he’s my vow’d husband.
FAL. And what’s a husband? Is not a husband a stranger
at first? and will you lie with a stranger before you
lie with your own uncle? Take heed what ye do, niece: I
counsel you for the best. Strangers are drunken fellows,
I can tell you; they will come home late a’ nights, beat
their wives, and get nothing but girls: look to’t; if
you marry, your stubbornness is your dowry: five
thousand crowns were bequeathed to you, true, if you
marry with my consent; but if e’er you go to marrying by
my consent, I’ll go to hanging by yours: go to, be wise,
and love your uncle.
NIECE. I should have cause then to repent indeed.
Do you so far forget the offices
Of blushing modesty? Uncles are half fathers;
Why, they come so near our bloods, they’re e’en part of
it.
FAL. Why, now you come to me, niece: if your uncle be
part of your own flesh and blood, is it not then fit
your own flesh and blood should come nearest to you?
answer me to that, niece.
NIECE. You do allude all to incestuous will,
Nothing to modest purpose. Turn me forth;
Be like an uncle of these latter days,
Perjur’d enough, enough unnatural;
Play your executorship in tyranny,
Restrain my fortunes, keep me poor,—I care not.
In this alone most women I’ll excel,
I’ll rather yield to beggary than to hell. [_Exit._
FAL. Very good; a’ my troth, my niece is valiant: sh’as
made me richer by five thousand crowns, the price of her
dowry. Are you so honest? I do not fear but I shall have
the conscience to keep you poor enough, niece, or else I
am quite altered a’ late.

_Enter_ LATRONELLO.

The news, may it please you, sir?
LAT. Sir, there’s an old fellow, a kind of law-driver,
entreats conference with your worship.
FAL. A law-driver? prithee, drive him hither.
[_Exit_ LATRONELLO.

_Enter_ TANGLE.

TAN. No, no, I say; if it be for defect of
apparance,[859] take me out a special _significavit_.
SUITOR[860] [_within._] Very good, sir.
TAN. Then if he purchase an _alias_ or _capias_,
which are writs of custom, only to delay time, your
_procedendo_ does you knight’s service—that’s nothing at
all; get your _distringas_ out as soon as you can for a
jury.
SUIT. [_within_] I’ll attend your good[861] worship’s
coming out.
TAN. Do, I prithee, attend me; I’ll take it kindly, _a
voluntate_.
FAL. What, old signior Tangle!
TAN. I am in debt to your worship’s remembrance.
FAL. My old master of fence! come, come, come, I have
not exercised this twelve moons; I have almost forgot
all my law-weapons.
TAN. They are under fine and recovery; your worship
shall easily recover them.
FAL. I hope so.—When,[862] there?

_Enter_ LATRONELLO.

LAT. Sir?
FAL. The rapier and dagger foils instantly.—[_Exit_
LATRONELLO.]—And what’s thy suit to me, old Tangle?
I’ll grant it presently.
TAN. Nothing but this, sir; to set your worship’s hand
to the commendation of a knave whom nobody speaks well
on.
FAL. The more shame for ’em: what was his offence, I
pray?
TAN. _Vestras deducite culpas_; nothing but robbing a
vestry.
FAL. What, what? alas, poor knave! Give me the paper. He
did but save the churchwardens a labour: come, come, he
has done a better deed in’t than the parish is aware of,
to prevent[863] the knaves; he robs but seldom, they
once a quarter: methinks ’twere a part of good justice
to hang ’em at year’s end, when they come out of their
office, to the true terrifying of all collectors and
sidemen.[864]
TAN. Your worship would make a fruitful commonwealth’s
man: the constable lets ’em alone, looks on, and says
nothing.
FAL. Alas, good man! he lets ’em alone for quietness-
sake, and takes half a share with ’em: they know well
enough too he has an impediment in his tongue; he’s
always drunk when he should speak.
TAN. Indeed, your worship speaks true in that, sir: they
blind him with beer, and make him so narrow-eyed, that
he winks naturally at all their knaveries.
FAL. So, so; here’s my hand to his commendations.
[_Signs the paper._
TAN. _A caritate_, you do a charitable deed in’t, sir.
FAL. Nay, if it be but a vestry matter, visit me at any
time, old Signior Law-thistle.

_Re-enter_ LATRONELLO _with rapier and dagger foils, and
then exit_.

O well done! here are the foils: come, come, sir;
I’ll try a law-bout with you.
TAN. I am afraid I shall overthrow you, sir, i’faith.
FAL. ’Tis but for want of use then, sir.
TAN. Indeed, that same odd word, use, makes a man a good
lawyer, and a woman an arrant——tuh, tuh, tuh, tuh, tuh!
Now am I for you, sir: but first to bring you into form;
can your worship name all your weapons?
FAL. That I can, I hope. Let me see: Longsword, what’s
Longsword? I am so dulled with doing justice, that I
have forgot all, i’faith.
TAN. Your Longsword, that’s _a writ of delay_.
FAL. Mass, that sword’s long enough, indeed; I ha’ known
it reach the length of fifteen terms.
TAN. Fifteen terms? that’s but a short sword.
FAL. Methinks ’tis long enough: proceed, sir.
TAN. _A writ of delay_, Longsword; _scandala
magnatum_,[865] Backsword.
FAL. Scandals are backswords indeed.
TAN. _Capias cominus_, Case of Rapiers.
FAL. O desperate!
TAN. A _latitat_, Sword and Dagger; _a writ of
execution_, Rapier and Dagger.[866]
FAL. Thou art come to our present weapon: but what call
you Sword and Buckler, then?
TAN. O, that’s out of use now! Sword and Buckler was
called _a good conscience_, but that weapon’s left long
ago: that was too manly a fight, too sound a weapon for
these our days. ’Slid, we are scarce able to lift up a
buckler now, our arms are so bound to the pox; one good
bang upon a buckler would make most of our gentlemen fly
a’ pieces: ’tis not for these linty times: our lawyers
are good rapier and dagger men; they’ll quickly despatch
your—money.
FAL. Indeed, since sword and buckler time, I have
observed there has been nothing so much fighting: where
be all our gallant swaggerers? there are no good frays
a’ late.
TAN. O, sir, the property’s altered; you shall see less
fighting every day than other; for every one gets him a
mistress, and she gives him wounds enow; and you know
the surgeons cannot be here and there too: if there were
red wounds too, what would become of the Reinish[867]
wounds?
FAL. Thou sayst true, i’faith; they would be but ill-
favouredly looked to then.
TAN. Very well, sir.
FAL. I expect you, sir.
TAN. I lie in this court for you, sir; my Rapier is my
attorney, and my Dagger his clerk.
FAL. Your attorney wants a little oiling, methinks; he
looks very rustily.
TAN. ’Tis but his proper colour, sir; his father was an
ironmonger; he will ne’er look brighter, the rust has so
eat into him; has never any leisure to be made clean.
FAL. Not in the vacation?
TAN. _Non vacat exiguis rebus adesse Jovi._[868]
FAL. Then Jove will not be at leisure to scour him,
because he ne’er came to him before.
TAN. You’re excellent at it, sir: and now you least
think on’t, I arrest you, sir.
FAL. Very good, sir.
TAN. Nay, very bad, sir, by my faith: I follow you
still, as the officers will follow you, as long as you
have a penny.
FAL. You speak sentences, sir: by this time have I tried
my friends, and now I thrust in bail.
TAN. This bail will not be taken, sir; they must be two
citizens that are no cuckolds.
FAL. Byrlady,[869] then I’m like to lie by it; I had
rather ’twere a hundred that were.
TAN. Take heed I bring you not to an _nisi prius_, sir.
FAL. I must ward myself as well as I may, sir.
TAN. ’Tis court-day now; _declarat atturnatus_, my
attorney gapes for money.
FAL. You shall have no advantage yet; I put in my
answer.
TAN.[870] I follow the suit still, sir.
FAL. I like not this court, byrlady: I take me out a
writ of remove; a writ of remove, do you see, sir?
TAN. Very well, sir.
FAL. And place my cause higher.
TAN. There you started me, sir: yet for all your demurs,
_pluries_, and _sursurraras_,[871] which are all
Longswords,[872] that’s delays, all the comfort is, in
nine years a man may overthrow you.
FAL. You must thank your good friends then, sir.
TAN. Let nine years pass, five hundred crowns cast away
a’ both sides, and the suit not twenty, my counsellor’s
wife must have another hood, you know, and my attorney’s
wife will have a new forepart; yet see at length law, I
shall have law: now, beware, I bring you to a narrow
exigent, and by no means can you avoid the proclamation.
FAL. O!
TAN. Now follows a writ of execution; a _capias
utlagatum_ gives you a wound mortal, trips up your
heels, and lays you i’ th’ counter. [_Overthrows him._
FAL. O villain!
TAN. I cry your worship heartily mercy, sir; I thought
we had been in law together, _adversarius contra
adversarium_, by my troth.
FAL. O, reach me thy hand! I ne’er had such an overthrow
in my life.
TAN. ’Twas ’long of your attorney there; he might a’
stayed the execution of _capias utlagatum_, and removed
you, with a _supersedeas non molestandum_, into the
court of equity.
FAL. Pox on him, he fell out of my hand when I had most
need of him.
TAN. I was bound to follow the suit, sir.
FAL. Thou couldst do no less than overthrow me, I must
needs say so.
TAN. You had recovered cost else, sir.
FAL. And now, by th’[873] mass, I think I shall hardly
recover without cost.
TAN. Nay, that’s _certo scio_, an execution is very
chargeable.
FAL. Well, it shall teach me wit as long as I am a
justice. I perceive by this trial, if a man have a sound
fall in law, he[874] shall feel it in his bones all his
life after.
TAN. Nay, that’s _recto_ upon record; for I myself was
overthrown in 88 by a tailor, and I have had a stitch in
my side ever since,—O! [_Exeunt._[875]