Chapter V: Act III: Scene I

_Before the Church._

_Enter_ GNOTHO _and_ CLERK.

GNOTH. You have searched o’er the parish-chronicle,
sir?
CLERK. Yes, sir; I have found out the true age and date
of the party you wot on.
GNOTH. Pray you, be covered, sir.
CLERK. When you have shewed me the way, sir.
GNOTH. O sir, remember yourself, you are a clerk.
CLERK. A small clerk, sir.
GNOTH. Likely to be the wiser man, sir; for your
greatest clerks are not always so, as ’tis reported.
CLERK. You are a great man in the parish, sir.
GNOTH. I understand myself so much the better, sir; for
all the best in the parish pay duties to the clerk, and
I would owe you none, sir.
CLERK. Since you’ll have it so, I’ll be the first to
hide my head.
GNOTH. Mine is a capcase: now to our business in[164]
hand. Good luck, I hope; I long to be resolved.
CLERK. Look you, sir, this is that cannot deceive you:
This is the dial that goes ever true;
You may say _ipse dixit_ upon this witness,
And it is[165] good in law too.
GNOTH. Pray you, let’s hear what it speaks.
CLERK. Mark, sir.—_Agatha, the daughter of Pollux_,
(this is your wife’s name, and the name of her father,)
_born_——
GNOTH. Whose daughter, say you?
CLERK. The daughter of Pollux.
GNOTH. I take it his name was Bollux.
CLERK. Pollux the orthography I assure you, sir; the
word is corrupted else.
GNOTH. Well, on, sir,—of Pollux; now come on, Castor.
CLERK. _Born in an._ 1540, and now ’tis 99. By this
infallible record, sir, (let me see,) she is now just
fifty-nine, and wants but one.
GNOTH. I am sorry she wants so much.
CLERK. Why, sir? alas, ’tis nothing; ’tis but so many
months, so many weeks, so many——
GNOTH. Do not deduct it to days,[166] ’twill be the
more tedious; and to measure it by hourglasses were
intolerable.
CLERK. Do not think on it, sir; half the time goes away
in sleep, ’tis half the year in nights.
GNOTH. O, you mistake me, neighbour, I am loath to leave
the good old woman; if she were gone now it would not
grieve me; for what is a year, alas, but a lingering
torment? and were it not better she were out of her
pain? ’T must needs be a grief to us both.
CLERK. I would I knew how to ease you, neighbour!
GNOTH. You speak kindly, truly, and if you say but Amen
to it, (which is a word that I know you are perfect in,)
it might be done. Clerks are the most indifferent honest
men,—for to the marriage of your enemy, or the burial of
your friend, the curses or the blessings to you are all
one; you say Amen to all.
CLERK. With a better will to the one than the other,
neighbour: but I shall be glad to say Amen to any thing
might do you a pleasure.
GNOTH. There is, first, something above your duty:
[_Gives him money_] now I would have you set forward the
clock a little, to help the old woman out of her pain.
CLERK. I will speak to the sexton;[167] but the day will
go ne’er the faster for that.
GNOTH. O, neighbour, you do not conceit me; not the jack
of the clock-house; the hand of the dial, I mean.—Come,
I know you, being a great clerk, cannot choose but have
the art to cast a figure.
CLERK. Never, indeed, neighbour; I never had the
judgment to cast a figure.
GNOTH. I’ll shew you on the back side of your book, look
you,—what figure’s this?
CLERK. Four with a cipher, that’s forty.
GNOTH. So! forty; what’s this now?
CLERK. The cipher is turned into 9 by adding the tail,
which makes forty-nine.
GNOTH. Very well understood; what is’t now?
CLERK. The 4 is turned into 3; ’tis now thirty-nine.
GNOTH. Very well understood; and can you do this again?
CLERK. O, easily, sir.
GNOTH. A wager of that! let me see the place of my
wife’s age again.
CLERK. Look you, sir, ’tis here, 1540.
GNOTH. Forty drachmas, you do not turn that forty into
thirty-nine.
CLERK. A match with you.
GNOTH. Done! and you shall keep stakes yourself: there
they are.
CLERK. A firm match—but stay, sir, now I consider
it, I shall add a year to your wife’s age; let me
see—_Scirophorion_ the 17,—and now ’tis _Hecatombaion_
the 11.[168] If I alter this, your wife will have but a
month to live by the law.
GNOTH. That’s all one, sir; either do it, or pay me my
wager.
CLERK. Will you lose your wife before you lose your
wager?
GNOTH. A man may get two wives before half so much money
by ’em; will you do’t?
CLERK. I hope you will conceal me, for ’tis flat
corruption.
GNOTH. Nay, sir, I would have you keep counsel; for I
lose my money by’t, and should be laughed at for my
labour, if it should be known.
CLERK. Well, sir, there!—’tis done; as perfect [a] 39 as
can be found in black and white: but mum, sir,—there’s
danger in this figure-casting.
GNOTH. Ay, sir, I know that: better men than you have
been thrown over the bar for as little; the best is, you
can be but thrown out of the belfry.

_Enter the_ COOK, TAILOR, BAILIFF, _and_ BUTLER.

CLERK. Lock close, here comes company; asses have ears
as well as pitchers.
COOK. O Gnotho,[169] how is’t? here’s a trick[170] of
discarded cards of us! we were ranked with coats, as
long as our old master lived.
GNOTH. And is this then the end of serving-men?
COOK. Yes, ’faith, this is the end of serving-men: a
wise man were better serve one God than all the men in
the world.
GNOTH. ’Twas well spoke[171] of a cook. And are all
fallen into fasting-days and Ember-weeks, that cooks are
out of use?
TAIL. And all tailors will be cut into lists and shreds;
if this world hold, we shall grow both out of request.
BUT. And why not butlers as well as tailors? if they can
go naked, let ’em neither eat nor drink.
CLERK. That’s strange, methinks, a lord should turn away
his tailor, of all men:—and how dost thou, tailor?
TAIL. I do so, so; but, indeed, all our wants are long
of this publican, my lord’s bailiff; for had he been
rent-gatherer still, our places had held together still,
that are now seam-rent, nay cracked in the whole piece.
BAIL. Sir, if my lord had not sold his lands that claim
his rents, I should still have been the rent-gatherer.
COOK. The truth is, except the coachman and the footman,
all serving-men are out of request.
GNOTH. Nay, say not so, for you were never in more
request than now, for requesting is but a kind of a
begging; for when you say, I beseech your worship’s
charity, ’tis all one [as] if you say, I request it; and
in that kind of requesting, I am sure serving-men were
never in more request.
COOK. Troth, he says true: well, let that pass, we are
upon a better adventure. I see, Gnotho,[172] you have
been before us; we came to deal with this merchant for
some commodities.
CLERK. With me, sir? any thing that I can.
BUT. Nay, we have looked out our wives already: marry,
to you we come to know the prices, that is, to know
their ages; for so much reverence we bear to age, that
the more aged, they shall be the more dear to us.
TAIL. The truth is, every man has laid by his widow; so
they be lame enough, blind enough, and old [enough],
’tis good enough.
CLERK. I keep the town-stock; if you can but name ’em, I
can tell their ages to [a] day.
ALL. We can tell their fortunes to an hour, then.
CLERK. Only you must pay for turning of the leaves.
COOK. O, bountifully.—Come, mine first.
BUT. The butler before the cook, while you live; there’s
few that eat before they drink in a morning.
TAIL. Nay, then the tailor puts in his needle of
priority, for men do clothe themselves before they
either drink or eat.
BAIL. I will strive for no place; the longer ere I marry
my wife, the older she will be, and nearer her end and
my ends.
CLERK. I will serve you all, gentlemen, if you will have
patience.
GNOTH. I commend your modesty, sir; you are a bailiff,
whose place is to come behind other men, as it were in
the bum of all the rest.
BAIL. So, sir! and you were about this business too,
seeking out for a widow?
GNOTH. Alack! no, sir; I am a married man, and have
those cares upon me that you would fain run into.
BAIL. What, an old rich wife! any man in this age
desires such a care.
GNOTH. ’Troth, sir, I’ll put a venture with you, if you
will; I have a lusty old quean to my wife, sound of wind
and limb, yet I’ll give out to take three for one at the
marriage of my second wife.
BAIL. Ay, sir, but how near is she to the law?
GNOTH. Take that at hazard, sir; there must be time, you
know, to get a new. Unsight, unseen, I take three to
one.
BAIL. Two to one I’ll give, if she have but two teeth in
her head.
GNOTH. A match; there’s five drachmas for ten at my next
wife.
BAIL. A match.
COOK. I shall be fitted bravely; fifty-eight, and
upwards; ’tis but a year and a half, and I may chance
make friends, and beg a year of the duke.
BUT. Hey, boys! I am made sir butler; my wife that shall
be wants but two months of her time; it shall be one ere
I marry her, and then the next will be a honeymoon.
TAIL. I outstrip you all; I shall have but six weeks of
Lent, if I get my widow, and then comes eating-tide,
plump and gorgeous.
GNOTH. This tailor will be a man, if ever there were
any.
BAIL. Now comes my turn, I hope, goodman Finis, you that
are still at the end of all, with a _so be it_. Well
now, sirs? do you venture there as I have done; and I’ll
venture here after you. Good luck, I beseech thee!
CLERK. Amen, sir.
BAIL. That deserves a fee already—there ’tis; please me,
and have a better.
CLERK. Amen, sir.
COOK. How, two for one at your next wife! is the old one
living?
GNOTH. You have a fair match, I offer you no foul one;
if death make not haste to call her, she’ll make none to
go to him.
BUT. I know her, she’s a lusty woman; I’ll take the
venture.
GNOTH. There’s five drachmas for ten at my next wife.
BUT. A bargain.
COOK. Nay, then we’ll be all merchants: give me.
TAIL. And me.
BUT. What has the bailiff sped?
BAIL. I am content; but none of you shall know my
happiness.
CLERK. As well as any of you all, believe it, sir.
BAIL. O, clerk, you are to speak last always.
CLERK. I’ll remember’t hereafter, sir. You have done
with me, gentlemen?

_Enter_ AGATHA.

ALL. For this time, honest register.
CLERK. Fare you well then; if you do,[173] I’ll cry Amen
to’t. [_Exit._
COOK. Look you, sir, is not this your wife?
GNOTH. My first wife, sir.
BUT. Nay, then we have made a good match on’t; if she
have no froward disease, the woman may live this dozen
years by her age.
TAIL. I’m afraid she’s broken-winded, she holds silence
so long.
COOK. We’ll now leave our venture to the event; I must a
wooing.
BUT. I’ll but buy me a new dagger, and overtake you.
BAIL. So we must all; for he that goes a wooing to a
widow without a weapon, will never get her.
[_Exeunt all but_ GNOTHO _and_ AGATHA.
GNOTH. O wife, wife!
AGA. What ail you, man, you speak so passionately?[174]
GNOTH. ’Tis for thy sake, sweet wife: who would think so
lusty an old woman, with reasonable good teeth, and her
tongue in as perfect use as ever it was, should be so
near her time?—but the Fates will have it so.
AGA. What’s the matter, man? you do amaze me.
GNOTH. Thou art not sick neither, I warrant thee.
AGA. Not that I know of, sure.
GNOTH. What pity ’tis a woman should be so near her end,
and yet not sick!
AGA. Near her end, man! tush, I can guess at that;
I have years good yet of life in the remainder:
I want two yet at least of the full number;
Then the law, I know, craves impotent and useless,
And not the able women.
GNOTH. Ay, alas! I see thou hast been repairing time as
well as thou couldst; the old wrinkles are well filled
up, but the vermilion is seen too thick, too thick—and I
read what’s written in thy forehead; it agrees with the
church-book.
AGA. Have you sought my age, man? and, I prithee, how is
it?
GNOTH. I shall but discomfort thee.
AGA. Not at all, man; when there’s no remedy, I will go,
though unwillingly.
GNOTH. 1539. Just; it agrees with the book: you have
about a year to prepare yourself.
AGA. Out, alas! I hope there’s more than so. But do you
not think a reprieve might be gotten for half a
score—and[175] ’twere but five year[s], I would not
care? an able woman, methinks, were to be pitied.
GNOTH. Ay, to be pitied, but not helped; no hope of
that: for, indeed, women have so blemished their own
reputations now-a-days, that it is thought the law will
meet them at fifty very shortly.
AGA. Marry, the heavens forbid!
GNOTH. There’s so many of you, that, when you are old,
become witches; some profess physic, and kill good
subjects faster than a burning fever; and then school-
mistresses of the sweet sin, which commonly we call
bawds, innumerable of that sort: for these and such
causes ’tis thought they shall not live above fifty.
AGA. Ay, man, but this hurts not the good old women.
GNOTH. I’faith, you are so like one another, that a man
cannot distinguish ’em: now, were I an old woman, I
would desire to go before my time, and offer myself
willingly, two or three years before. O, those are brave
women, and worthy to be commended of all men in the
world, that, when their husbands die, they run to be
burnt to death with ’em: there’s honour and credit! give
me half a dozen such wives.
AGA. Ay, if her husband were dead before, ’twere a
reasonable request; if you were dead, I could be content
to be so.
GNOTH. Fie! that’s not likely, for thou hadst two
husbands before me.
AGA. Thou wouldst not have me die, wouldst thou,
husband?
GNOTH. No, I do not speak to that purpose; but I say
what credit it were for me and thee, if thou wouldst;
then thou shouldst never be suspected for a witch, a
physician, a bawd, or any of those things: and then how
daintily should I mourn for thee, how bravely should I
see thee buried! when, alas, if he goes before, it
cannot choose but be a great grief to him to think he
has not seen his wife well buried. There be such
virtuous women in the world, but too few, too few, who
desire to die seven years before their time, with all
their hearts.
AGA. I have not the heart to be of that mind; but,
indeed, husband, I think you would have me gone.
GNOTH. No, alas! I speak but for your good and your
credit; for when a woman may die quickly, why should she
go to law for her death? Alack, I need not wish thee
gone, for thou hast but a short time to stay with me:
you do not know how near ’tis,—it must out; you have but
a month to live by the law.
AGA. Out, alas!
GNOTH. Nay, scarce so much.
AGA. O, O, O, my heart! [_Swoons._
GNOTH. Ay, so! if thou wouldst go away quietly, ’twere
sweetly done, and like a kind wife; lie but a little
longer, and the bell shall toll for thee.
AGA. O my heart, but a month to live!
GNOTH. Alas, why wouldst thou come back again for a
month?—I’ll throw her down again—O, woman, ’tis not
three weeks; I think a fortnight is the most.
AGA. Nay, then I am gone already. [_Swoons._
GNOTH. I would make haste to the sexton now, but I’m
afraid the tolling of the bell will wake her again. If
she be so wise as to go now—she stirs again; there’s two
lives of the nine gone.
AGA. O, wouldst thou not help to recover me, husband?
GNOTH. Alas, I could not find in my heart to hold thee
by thy nose, or box thy cheeks; it goes against my
conscience.
AGA. I will not be thus frighted to my death;
I’ll search the church-record[s]: a fortnight! ’tis
Too little of conscience, I cannot be so near;
O time, if thou be’st kind, lend me but a year!
[_Exit._
GNOTH. What a spite’s this, that a man cannot persuade
his wife to die in any time with her good will! I have
another bespoke already; though a piece of old beef will
serve to breakfast, yet a man would be glad of a chicken
to supper. The clerk, I hope, understands no Hebrew, and
cannot write backward what he hath writ forward already,
and then I am well enough.
’Tis but a month at most; if that were gone,
My venture comes in with her two for one:
’Tis use enough a’ conscience for a broker[176]—if he
had a conscience. [_Exit._

SCENE II.

_A Room in_ CREON’s _House_.

_Enter_ EUGENIA _at one door_, SIMONIDES _and_ COURTIERS
_at the other_.

EUG. Gentlemen courtiers.
FIRST COURT. All your vow’d servants,[177] lady.
EUG. O, I shall kill myself with infinite laughter!
Will nobody take my part?
SIM. An’t be a laughing business,
Put it to me, I’m one of the best in Europe;
My father died last too, I have the most cause.
EUG. You ha’ pick’d out such a time, sweet gentlemen,
To make your spleen a banquet.
SIM. O the jest!
Lady, I have a jaw stands ready for’t,
I’ll gape half way, and meet it.
EUG. My old husband,
That cannot say his prayers out for jealousy,
And madness at your coming first to woo me——
SIM. Well said.
FIRST COURT. Go on.
SECOND COURT. On, on.
EUG. Takes counsel with
The secrets of all art, to make himself
Youthful again.
SIM. How? youthful! ha, ha, ha!
EUG. A man of forty-five he would fain seem to be,
Or scarce so much, if he might have his will, indeed.
SIM. Ay, but his white hairs, they’ll betray his
hoariness.
EUG. Why, there you are wide: he’s not the man you
take him for,
Nor[178] will you know him when you see him again;
There will be five to one laid upon that.
FIRST COURT. How!
EUG. Nay, you did well to laugh faintly there;
I promise you, I think he’ll outlive me now,
And deceive law and all.
SIM. Marry, gout forbid!
EUG. You little think he was at fencing-school
At four a’clock this morning.
SIM. How, at fencing-school!
EUG. Else give no trust to woman.
SIM. By this light,
I do not like him, then; he’s like to live
Longer than I, for he may kill me first, now.
EUG. His dancer now came in as I met you.
FIRST COURT. His dancer, too!
EUG. They observe turns and hours with him;
The great French rider will be here at ten,
With his curvetting horse.
SECOND COURT. These notwithstanding,
His hair and wrinkles will betray his age.
EUG. I’m sure his head and beard, as he has order’d
it,
Look not past fifty now: he’ll bring’t to forty
Within these four days, for nine times an hour[179]
He takes a black-lead comb, and kembs it over:
Three quarters of his beard is under fifty;
There’s but a little tuft of fourscore left,
All of one side, which will be black by Monday.

_Enter_ LYSANDER.

And, to approve my truth, see where he comes!
Laugh softly, gentlemen, and look upon him.
[_They go aside._
SIM. Now, by this hand, he’s almost black i’the mouth,
indeed.
FIRST COURT. He should die shortly, then.
SIM. Marry, methinks he dies too fast already,
For he was all white but a week ago.
FIRST COURT. O, this same coney-white takes an
excellent black,
Too soon, a mischief on’t!
SECOND COURT. He will beguile[180]
Us all, if that little tuft northward turn black too.
EUG. Nay, sir, I wonder ’tis so long a turning.
SIM. May be some fairy’s child, held forth at
midnight,
Has piss’d upon that side.
FIRST COURT. Is this the beard?
LYS. Ah, sirrah? my young boys, I shall be for you:
This little mangy tuft takes up more time
Than all the beard beside. Come you a wooing,
And I alive and lusty? you shall find
An alteration, jack-boys; I have a spirit yet,
(And[181] I could match my hair to’t, there’s the
fault,[182])
And can do offices of youth yet lightly;
At least, I will do, though it pain me a little.
Shall not a man, for a little foolish age,
Enjoy his wife to himself? must young court tits
Play tomboys’ tricks with her, and he live? ha!
I have blood that will not bear’t; yet, I confess,
I should be at my prayers—but where’s the dancer, there!

_Enter_ DANCING-MASTER.

MAST. Here, sir.
LYS. Come, come, come, one trick a day,
And I shall soon recover all again.
EUG. ’Slight, and[183] you laugh too loud, we are all
discover’d.[184]
SIM. And I have a scurvy grinning[185] laugh a’ mine
own,
Will spoil all, I am afraid.
EUG. Marry, take heed, sir.
SIM. Nay, and[186] I should be hang’d, I cannot[187]
leave it;
Pup!—there ’tis. [_Bursts into a laugh._
EUG. Peace! O, peace!
LYS. Come, I am ready, sir.
I hear the church-book’s lost where I was born too,
And that shall set me back one[188] twenty years;
There is no little comfort left in that:
And—[then] my three court-codlings, that look parboil’d,
As if they came from Cupid’s scalding-house——
SIM. He means me specially, I hold my life.
MAST. What trick will your old worship learn this
morning, sir?
LYS. Marry, a trick, if thou couldst teach a man,
To keep his wife to himself; I’d fain learn that.
MAST. That’s a hard trick, for an old man specially;
The horse-trick comes the nearest.
LYS. Thou sayst true, i’faith,
They must be hors’d indeed, else there’s no keeping on
’em,
And horse-play at fourscore is not so ready.
MAST. Look you, here’s your worship’s horse-
trick,[189] sir. [_Gives a spring._
LYS. Nay, say not so,
’Tis none of mine; I fall down horse and man,
If I but offer at it.
MAST. My life for yours, sir.
LYS. Sayst thou me so? [_Springs aloft._
MAST. Well offer’d, by my viol, sir.
LYS. A pox of this horse-trick! ’t has play’d the jade
with me,
And given me a wrench i’the back.
MAST. Now here’s your inturn, and your trick above
ground.
LYS. Prithee, no more, unless thou hast a mind
To lay me under ground; one of these tricks
Is enough in a morning.
MAST. For your galliard, sir,
You are complete enough, ay, and may challenge
The proudest coxcomb of ’em all, I’ll stand to’t.
LYS. Faith, and I’ve other weapons for the rest too:
I have prepar’d for ’em, if e’er I take
My Gregories here again.
SIM. O, I shall burst,
I can hold out no longer.
EUG. He spoils all. [_They come forward._
LYS. The devil and his grinners! are you come?
Bring forth the weapons, we shall find you play;
All feats of youth too, jack-boys, feats of youth,
And these the weapons, drinking, fencing, dancing:
Your own road-ways, you glyster-pipes! I’m old, you say;
Yes, parlous old, kids, and[190] you mark me well!
This beard cannot get children, you lank suck-eggs,
Unless such weasels come from court to help us.
We will get our own brats, you lecherous dog-bolts!

_Enter a_ SERVANT _with foils and glasses_.

Well said, down with ’em; now we shall see your spirits.
What! dwindle you already?
SECOND COURT. I have no quality.
SIM. Nor I, unless drinking may be reckon’d for one.
FIRST COURT. Why, Sim, it shall.
LYS. Come, dare you choose your weapon now?
FIRST COURT. I? dancing, sir, and[191] you will be so
hasty.
LYS. We’re for you, sir.
SECOND COURT. Fencing, I.
LYS. We’ll answer you too.
SIM. I am for drinking; your wet weapon there.
LYS. That wet one has cost many a princox life;
And I will send it through you with a powder!
SIM. Let [it] come, with a pox! I care not, so’t be
drink.
I hope my guts will hold, and that’s e’en all
A gentleman can look for of such trillibubs.[192]
LYS. Play the first weapon; come, strike, strike, I
say.
Yes, yes, you shall be first; I’ll observe court rules:
Always the worst goes foremost, so ’twill prove, I hope.
[FIRST COURTIER _dances a galliard_.[193]
So, sir! you’ve spit your poison; now come I.
Now, forty years go[194] backward and assist me,
Fall from me half my age, but for three minutes,
That I may feel no crick! I will put fair for’t,
Although I hazard twenty sciaticas. [_Dances._
So, I have hit you.
FIRST COURT. You’ve done well, i’faith, sir.
LYS. If you confess it well, ’tis excellent,
And I have hit you soundly; I am warm now:
The second weapon instantly.
SECOND COURT. What, so quick, sir?
Will you not allow yourself a breathing-time?
LYS. I’ve breath enough at all times, Lucifer’s musk-
cod,
To give your perfum’d worship three vennies:[195]
A sound old man puts his thrust better home
Than a spic’d young man: there I. [_They fence._
SECOND COURT. Then have at you, fourscore.
LYS. You lie, twenty, I hope, and you shall find it.
SIM. I’m glad I miss’d this weapon, I[’d] had an eye
Popt out ere this time, or my two butter-teeth
Thrust down my throat instead of a flap-dragon.[196]
LYS. There’s two, pentweezle. [_Hits him._
MAST. Excellently touch’d, sir.
SECOND COURT. Had ever man such luck! speak your
opinion, gentlemen.
SIM. Methinks, your luck’s good, that your eyes are in
still;
Mine would have dropt out, like a pig’s half-roasted.
LYS. There wants a third—and there it is[197] again!
[_Hits him again._'
SECOND COURT. The devil has steel’d him.
EUG. What a strong fiend is jealousy!
LYS. You’re despatch’d, bear-whelp.
SIM. Now comes my weapon in.
LYS. Here, toadstool, here.
’Tis you[198] and I must play these three wet
vennies.[199]
SIM. Vennies in Venice glasses! let ’em come,
They’ll bruise no flesh, I’m sure, nor break no bones.
SECOND COURT. Yet you may drink your eyes out, sir.
SIM. Ay, but that’s nothing;
Then they go voluntarily: I do not
Love to have ’em thrust out, whether they will or no.
LYS. Here’s your first weapon, duck’s-meat.
SIM. How! a Dutch what-you-call-’em,
Stead of a German faulchion! a shrewd weapon,
And, of all things, hard to be taken down:
Yet down it must, I have a nose goes into’t;
I shall drink double, I think.
FIRST COURT. The sooner off, Sim.
LYS. I’ll pay you speedily, —— with a trick[200]
I learnt once amongst drunkards; here’s [a] half-pike.
[_Drinks._
SIM. Half-pike comes well after Dutch what-you-call-
’em,
They’d never be asunder by their good will.[201]
FIRST COURT. Well pull’d of an old fellow!
LYS. O, but your fellows
Pull better at a rope.
FIRST COURT. There’s a hair, Sim,
In that glass.
SIM. An’t be as long as a halter, down it goes;
No hair shall cross me. [_Drinks._
LYS. I[’ll] make you stink worse than your pole-cats
do:
Here’s long-sword, your last weapon.
[_Offers him the glass._
SIM. No more weapons.
FIRST COURT. Why, how now, Sim? bear up, thou sham’st
us all, else.
SIM. [’S]light, I shall shame you worse, and[202] I
stay longer.
I ha’ got the scotomy[203] in my head already,
The whimsey: you all turn round—do not you dance,
gallants?
SECOND COURT. Pish! what’s all this? why, Sim, look,
the last venny.[204]
SIM. No more vennies go[205] down here, for these two
Are coming up again.
SECOND COURT. Out! the disgrace of drinkers!
SIM. Yes, ’twill out;
Do you smell nothing yet?
FIRST COURT. Smell!
SIM. Farewell quickly, then;
You[206] will do, if I stay. [_Exit._
FIRST COURT. A foil go with thee!
LYS. What, shall we put down youth at her own virtues?
Beat folly in her own ground? wondrous much!
Why may not we be held as full sufficient
To love our own wives then, get our own children,
And live in free peace till we be dissolv’d,
For such spring butterflies that are gaudy-wing’d,
But no more substance than those shamble-flies
Which butchers’ boys snap between sleep and waking?
Come but to crush you once, you are[207] but maggots,
For all your beamy outsides!

_Enter_ CLEANTHES.

EUG. Here’s Cleanthes;
He comes to chide;—let him alone a little,
Our cause will be reveng’d; look, look, his face
Is set for stormy weather; do but mark
How the clouds gather in ’t, ’twill pour down straight.
CLEAN. Methinks, I partly know you, that’s my grief.
Could you not all be lost? that had been handsome;
But to be known at all, ’tis more than shameful.
Why, was not your name wont to be Lysander?
LYS. ’Tis so still, coz.
CLEAN. Judgment, defer thy coming! else this man’s
miserable.
EUG. I told you there would be a shower anon.
SECOND COURT. We’ll in, and hide our noddles.
[_Exeunt_ EUGENIA _and_ COURTIERS.
CLEAN. What devil brought this colour to your mind,
Which, since your childhood, I ne’er saw you wear?
[Sure] you were ever of an innocent gloss
Since I was ripe for knowledge, and would you lose it,
And change the livery of saints and angels
For this mixt monstrousness; to force a ground
That has been so long hallow’d like a temple,
To bring forth fruits of earth now; and turn back[208]
To the wild cries of lust, and the complexion
Of sin in act, lost and long since repented!
Would you begin a work ne’er yet attempted,
To pull time backward?
See what your wife will do! are your wits perfect?
LYS. My wits!
CLEAN. I like it ten times worse; for’t had been safer
Now to be mad,[209] and more excusable:
I hear you dance again, and do strange follies.
LYS. I must confess I have been put to some, coz.
CLEAN. And yet you are not mad! pray, say not so;
Give me that comfort of you, that you are mad,
That I may think you are at worst; for if
You are not mad, I then must guess you have
The first of some disease was never heard of,
Which may be worse than madness, and more fearful:
You’d weep to see yourself else, and your care
To pray would quickly turn you white again.
I had a father, had he liv’d his month out,
But to ha’ seen this most prodigious folly,
There needed not the law to have him cut off;
The sight of this had prov’d his executioner,
And broke his heart: he would have held it equal
Done to a sanctuary,—for what is age
But the holy place of life, chapel of ease
For all men’s wearied miseries? and to rob
That of her ornament, it is accurst
As from a priest to steal a holy vestment,
Ay, and convert it to a sinful covering.
[_Exit_ LYSANDER.
I see’t has done him good; blessing go with it,
Such as may make him pure again.

_Re-enter_ EUGENIA.

EUG. ’Twas bravely touch’d, i’faith, sir.
CLEAN. O, you’re welcome.
EUG. Exceedingly well handled.
CLEAN. ’Tis to you I come; he fell but i’ my way.
EUG. You mark’d his beard, cousin?
CLEAN. Mark me.
EUG. Did you ever see a hair so changed?
CLEAN. I must be forc’d to wake her loudly too,
The devil has rock’d her so fast asleep.—Strumpet!
EUG. Do you call, sir?
CLEAN. Whore!
EUG. How do you, sir?
CLEAN. Be I ne’er so well,
I must be sick of thee; thou’rt a disease
That stick’st to th’ heart,—as all such women are.
EUG. What ails our kindred?
CLEAN. Bless me, she sleeps still!
What a dead modesty is i’ this woman,
Will never blush again! Look on thy work
But with a Christian eye, ’twould turn thy heart
Into a shower of blood, to be the cause
Of that old man’s destruction; think upon’t,
Ruin eternally; for, through thy loose follies,
Heaven has found him a faint servant lately:
His goodness has gone backward, and engender’d
With his old sins again; has[210] lost his prayers,
And all the tears that were companions with ’em:
And like a blindfold man, (giddy and blinded,)
Thinking he goes right on still, swerves but one foot,
And turns to the same place where he set out;
So he, that took his farewell of the world,
And cast the joys behind him, out of sight,
Summ’d up his hours, made even with time and men,
Is now in heart arriv’d at youth again,
All by thy wildness: thy too hasty lust
Has driven him to this strong apostacy.
Immodesty like thine was never equall’d:
I’ve heard of women, (shall I call ’em so?)
Have welcom’d suitors ere the corpse were cold;
But thou, thy husband living:—thou’rt[211] too bold.
EUG. Well, have you done now, sir?
CLEAN. Look, look! she smiles yet.
EUG. All this is nothing to a mind resolv’d;
Ask any woman that, she’ll tell you so much:
You have only shewn a pretty saucy wit,
Which I shall not forget, nor to requite it.
You shall hear from me shortly.
CLEAN. Shameless woman!
I take my counsel from thee, ’tis too honest,
And leave thee wholly to thy stronger master:
Bless the sex of thee from thee! that’s my prayer.
Were all like thee, so impudently common,
No man would [e’er] be found to wed a woman. [_Exit._
EUG. I’ll fit you gloriously.
He that attempts to take away my pleasure,
I’ll take away his joy; and I can sure.
His conceal’d father pays for’t: I’ll e’en tell
Him that I mean to make my husband next,
And he shall tell the duke—mass, here he comes.

_Re-enter_ SIMONIDES.

SIM. Has[212] had a bout with me too.
EUG. What! no? since, sir?
SIM. A flirt, a little flirt; he call’d me strange
names,
But I ne’er minded him.
EUG. You shall quit him, sir,
When he as little minds you.
SIM. I like that well.
I love to be reveng’d when no one thinks of me;
There’s little danger that way.
EUG. This is it then;
He you shall strike, your stroke shall be profound,
And yet your foe not guess who gave the wound.
SIM. A’ my troth, I love to give such wounds.
[_Exeunt._