Chapter XIX: Act I: Scene I

_A Street._

_Enter_ FOLLYWIT, MAWWORM, HOBOY, _and others_.

MAW. Captain, regent, principal!
HOB. What shall I call thee? the noble spark of bounty!
the life-blood of society!
FOL. Call me your forecast, you whoresons! when you come
drunk out of a tavern, ’tis I must cast your plots into
form still; ’tis I must manage the prank, or I’ll not
give a louse for the proceeding: I must let fly my civil
fortunes, turn wild-brain, lay my wits upo’ th’ tenters,
you rascals, to maintain a company of villains, whom I
love in my very soul and conscience!
MAW. Aha, our little forecast!
FOL. Hang you, you have bewitched me among you! I was as
well given[724] till I fell to be wicked! my grandsire
had hope of me: I went all in black; swore but a’
Sundays; never came home drunk but upon fasting-nights
to cleanse my stomach. ’Slid, now I’m quite altered!
blown into light colours; let out oaths by th’ minute;
sit up late till it be early; drink drunk till I am
sober; sink down dead in a tavern, and rise in a
tobacco-shop: here’s a transformation! I was wont yet to
pity the simple, and leave ’em some money: ’slid, now I
gull ’em without conscience! I go without order, swear
without number, gull without mercy, and drink without
measure.
MAW. I deny the last; for if you drink ne’er so much,
you drink within measure.
FOL. How prove you that, sir?
MAW. Because the drawers never fill their pots.
FOL. Mass, that was well found out! all drunkards may
lawfully say, they drink within measure by that trick.
And, now I’m put i’ th’ mind of a trick, can you keep
your countenance, villains? Yet I am a fool to ask that;
for how can they keep their countenance that have lost
their credits?
HOB. I warrant you for blushing, captain.
FOL. I easily believe that, ancient, for thou lost thy
colours once. Nay, faith, as for blushing, I think
there’s grace little enough amongst you all; ’tis Lent
in your cheeks, the flag’s down.[725] Well, your
blushing face I suspect not, nor indeed greatly your
laughing face, unless you had more money in your
purses. Then thus compendiously now. You all know the
possibilities of my hereafter fortunes, and the humour
of my frolic grandsire, Sir Bounteous Progress, whose
death makes all possible to me: I shall have all, when
he has nothing; but now he has all, I shall have
nothing. I think one mind runs through a million of
’em; they love to keep us sober all the while they’re
alive, that when they’re dead we may drink to their
healths; they cannot abide to see us merry all the
while they’re above ground, and that makes so many
laugh at their fathers’ funerals. I know my grandsire
has his will in a box, and has bequeathed all to me,
when he can carry nothing away; but stood I in need of
poor ten pounds now, by his will I should hang myself
ere I should get it: there’s no such word in his will,
I warrant you, nor no such thought in his mind.
MAW. You may build upon that, captain.
FOL. Then since he has no will to do me good as long as
he lives, by mine own will I’ll do myself good before he
dies; and now I arrive at the purpose. You are not
ignorant, I’m sure, you true and necessary implements of
mischief, first, that my grandsire, Sir Bounteous
Progress, is a knight of thousands, and therefore no
knight since one thousand six hundred;[726] next, that
he keeps a house like his name, bounteous, open for all
comers; thirdly and lastly, that he stands much upon the
glory of his complement,[727] variety of entertainment,
together with the largeness of his kitchen, longitude of
his buttery, and fecundity of his larder; and thinks
himself never happier than when some stiff lord or great
countess alights to make light his dishes. These being
well mixed together, may give my project better
encouragement, and make my purpose spring forth more
fortunate: to be short, and cut off a great deal of
dirty way, I’ll down to my grandsire like a lord.
MAW. How, captain?
FOL. A French ruff, a thin beard, and a strong perfume
will do’t. I can hire blue coats[728] for you all by
Westminster clock, and that colour will be soonest
believed.
MAW. But prithee, captain——
FOL. Push,[729] I reach past your fathoms:[730] you
desire crowns?
MAW. From the crown of our head to the sole of our foot,
bully.
FOL. Why carry yourselves but probably, and carry away
enough with yourselves.

_Enter_ PENITENT BROTHEL.

HOB. Why, there spoke a Roman captain!—Master Penitent
Brothel!
P. BRO. Sweet master Folly-wit! [_Exeunt_ FOLLYWIT,
MAWWORM, HOBOY, &c.] Here’s a mad-brain a’ th’
first,[731] whose pranks scorn to have precedents, to be
second to any, or walk beneath any madcap’s inventions;
has played more tricks than the cards can allow a man,
and of the last stamp too, hating imitation; a fellow,
whose only glory is to be prime of the company; to be
sure of which, he maintains all the rest: he’s the
carrion, and they the kites that gorge upon him.
But why in others do I check wild passions,
And retain deadly follies in myself?
I tax his youth of common receiv’d riot,
Time’s comic flashes, and the fruits of blood;
And in myself soothe up adulterous motions,
And such an appetite that I know damns me,
Yet willingly embrace it—love to Harebrain’s wife,
Over whose hours and pleasures her sick husband,
With a fantastic but deserv’d suspect,
Bestows his serious time in watch and ward;
And therefore I’m constrain’d to use the means
Of one that knows no mean, a courtesan,
One poison for another, whom her husband,
Without suspicion, innocently admits
Into her company, who with tried art
Corrupts and loosens her most constant powers,
Making his jealousy more than half a wittol,[732]
Before his face plotting his own abuse,
To which himself gives aim,[733]
Whilst the broad arrow with the forked head
Misses his brow but narrowly. See, here she comes,
The close courtesan, whose mother is her bawd.

_Enter Courtesan._

COUR. Master Penitent Brothel!—
P. BRO. My little pretty lady Gullman, the news, the
comfort?
COUR. You’re the fortunate man, sir, knight a’ th’
holland shirt;[734] there wants but opportunity, and
she’s wax of your own fashioning. She had wrought
herself into the form of your love before my art set
finger to her.
P. BRO. Did our affections meet? our thoughts keep
time?
COUR. So it should seem by the music: the only jar is in
the grumbling bass-viol her husband.
P. BRO. O, his waking suspicion!
COUR. Sigh not, master Penitent; trust the managing of
the business with me, ’tis for my credit now to see’t
well finished: if I do you no good, sir, you shall give
me no money, sir.
P. BRO. I am arrived at the court of conscience; a
courtesan! O admirable times! honesty is removed to the
common place.[735] [_Aside._] Farewell, lady.
[_Exit._

_Enter Mother._

MOT. How now, daughter?
COUR. What news, mother?
MOT. A token from thy keeper.
COUR. O, from Sir Bounteous Progress: he’s my keeper
indeed; but there’s many a piece of venison stolen that
my keeper wots not on. There’s no park kept so warily
but loses flesh one time or other; and no woman kept so
privately but may watch advantage to make the best of
her pleasure; and in common reason one keeper cannot be
enough for so proud a park as a woman.
MOT. Hold thee there, girl.
COUR. Fear not me, mother.
MOT. Every part of the world shoots up daily into more
subtlety; the very spider weaves her cauls with more art
and cunning to entrap the fly.
The shallow ploughman can distinguish now
’Twixt simple truth and a dissembling brow;
Your base mechanic fellow can spy out
A weakness in a lord, and learns to flout.
How does’t behove us then that live by slight,[736]
To have our wits wound up to their stretch’d height!
Fifteen times
Thou knowest I have sold thy maidenhead
To make up a dowry for thy marriage, and yet
There’s maidenhead enough for old sir Bounteous still:
He’ll be all his lifetime about it yet,
And be as far to seek when he has done.
The sums that I have told upon thy pillow!
I shall once see those golden days again:
Though fifteen, all thy maidenheads are not gone.
Th’ Italian is not serv’d yet, nor the French:
The British men come for a dozen at once,
They engross all the market: tut, my girl,
’Tis nothing but a politic conveyance,
A sincere carriage, a religious eyebrow,
That throw[737] their charms over the worldling’s
senses;
And when thou spiest a fool that truly pities
The false springs of thine eyes,
And honourably doats upon thy love,
If he be rich, set him by for a husband.
Be wisely temper’d, and learn this, my wench,
Who gets th’ opinion[738] for a virtuous name
May sin at pleasure, and ne’er think of shame.
COUR. Mother, I am too deep a scholar grown
To learn my first rules now.
MOT. ’Twill be thy own;
I say no more: peace, hark! remove thyself.
O, the two elder brothers! [_Exit Courtesan._

_Enter_ INESSE _and_ POSSIBILITY.

POS. A fair hour, sweet lady!
MOT. Good morrow, gentlemen, master Inesse and master
Possibility.
IN. Where’s the little sweet lady your daughter?
MOT. Even at her book, sir.
POS. So religious?
MOT. ’Tis no new motion, sir; sh’as took it from an
infant.
POS. May we deserve a sight of her, lady?
MOT. Upon that condition you will promise me, gentlemen,
to avoid all profane talk, wanton compliments, undecent
phrases, and lascivious courtings (which I know my
daughter will sooner die than endure), I am contented
your suits shall be granted.
POS. Not a bawdy syllable, I protest.
IN. Syllable was [well] placed there; for indeed your
one syllables are your bawdiest words: prick that down.
[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_Before_ HAREBRAIN’S _House_.

_Enter_ HAREBRAIN.

HAR. She may make night-work on’t; ’twas well
recover’d;[739]
He-cats and courtesans stroll most i’ th’ night:
Her friend may be receiv’d and convey’d forth nightly;
I’ll be at charge
For watch and ward, for watch and ward, i’faith;
And here they come.

_Enter Watchmen._
FIRST W. Give your worship good even.
HAR. Welcome, my friends; I must deserve your
diligence
In an employment serious. The troth is,
There’s[740] a cunning plot laid, but happily
discover’d,
To rob my house; the night uncertain when,
But fix’d within the circle of this month;
Nor does this villany consist in numbers,
Or many partners; only some one
Shall, in the form of my familiar friend,
Be receiv’d privately into my house
By some perfidious servant of mine own,
Address’d fit for the practice.
FIRST W. O abominable!
HAR. If you be faithful watchmen, shew your goodness,
And with these angels[741] shore up your eyelids:
[_Giving money._

Let me not be purloin’d—purloin’d indeed!
The merry Greeks conceive me—there’s[742] a gem
I would not lose,
Kept by th’ Italian under lock and key:
We Englishmen are careless creatures: well,
I have said enough.
SEC. W. And we will do enough, sir.
HAR. Why, well said; watch me a good turn now; so, so,
so. [_Exeunt Watchmen._
Rise villany with the lark, why, ’tis prevented;
Or steal’t by with the leather-winged bat,[743]
The evening cannot save it—peace—

_Enter Courtesan._

O, lady Gullman, my wife’s only company, welcome! and
how does the virtuous matron, that good old gentlewoman,
thy mother? I persuade myself, if modesty be in the
world, she has part on’t; a woman of an excellent
carriage all her lifetime, in court, city, and country.
COUR. Sh’as always carried it well in those places,
sir;—witness three bastards a-piece. [_Aside_]—How does
your sweet bed-fellow, sir? you see I’m her boldest
visitant.
HAR. And welcome, sweet virgin; the only companion my
soul wishes for her. I left her within at her lute;
prithee, give her good counsel.
COUR. Alas, she needs none, sir!
HAR. Yet, yet, yet, a little of thy instructions will
not come amiss to her.
COUR. I’ll bestow my labour, sir.
HAR. Do, labour her, prithee. I have conveyed away all
her wanton pamphlets; as _Hero and Leander_, _Venus and
Adonis_;[744] O, two luscious marrow-bone pies for a
young married wife! Here, here, prithee, take the
_Resolution_,[745] and read to her a little.
[_Gives book._
COUR. Sh’as set up her resolution already, sir.
HAR. True, true, and this will confirm it the more:
there’s a chapter of hell; ’tis good to read this cold
weather: terrify her, terrify her. Go, read to her the
horrible punishments for itching wantonness, the pains
allotted for adultery; tell her her thoughts, her very
dreams are answerable, say so; rip up the life of a
courtesan, and shew how loathsome ’tis.
COUR. The gentleman would persuade me in time to
disgrace myself, and speak ill of mine own function.
[_Aside and exit._
HAR. This is the course I take; I’ll teach the married
man
A new-selected strain. I admit none
But this pure virgin to her company:
Pooh, that’s enough; I’ll keep her to her stint,
I’ll put her to her pension;
She gets but her allowance, that’s [a] bare one:
Few women but have that beside their own:
Ha, ha, ha! nay, I will[746] put her hard to’t.

_Enter_ MISTRESS HAREBRAIN _and Courtesan_.

MIS. H. Fain would I meet the gentleman.
COUR. Push,[747] fain would you meet him! why, you do
not take the course.
HAR. How earnestly she labours her,
Like a good wholesome sister of the Family![748]
She will prevail, I hope. [_Aside._
COUR. Is that the means?
MIS. H. What is the means?
I would as gladly, to enjoy his sight,
Embrace it as the——
COUR. Shall I have hearing? listen.
HAR. She’s round with her, i’faith.[749] [_Aside._
COUR. When husbands in their rank’st suspicions dwell,
Then ’tis our best art to dissemble well:
Put but these notes in use that I’ll direct you,
He’ll curse himself that e’er he did suspect you.
Perhaps he will solicit you, as in trial,
To visit such and such; still give denial:
Let no persuasions sway you; they’re[750] but fetches
Set to betray you, jealousies, slights,[751] and
reaches.
Seem in his sight t’ endure the sight of no man;
Put by all kisses, till you kiss in common:
Neglect all entertain; if he bring in
Strangers, keep you your chamber, be not seen.
If he chance steal upon you, let him find
Some book lie open ’gainst an unchaste mind,
And coted[752] Scriptures; though for your own pleasure
You read some stirring pamphlet, and convey it
Under your skirt, the fittest place to lay it.
This is the course, my wench, t’ enjoy thy wishes;
Here you perform best when you most neglect:
The way to daunt is to outvie suspect.
Manage these principles but with art and life,
Welcome all nations, thou’rt an honest wife.
HAR. She puts it home, i’faith, even to the quick:
From her elaborate action I reach that.
I must requite this maid; faith, I’m forgetful.
[_Aside._
MIS. H. Here, lady,
Convey my heart unto him in this jewel.
Against you see me next, you shall perceive
I’ve[753] profited; in the mean season tell him
I am a prisoner yet a’ th’ Master’s side,[754]
My husband’s jealousy,
That masters him, as he doth master me;
And as a keeper that locks prisoners up
Is himself prison’d under his own key,
Even so my husband, in restraining me,
With the same ward bars his own liberty.
COUR. I’ll tell him how you wish it, and I’ll wear
My wits to the third pile[755] but all shall clear.
MIS. H. I owe you more than thanks, but that I hope
My husband will requite you.
COUR. Think you so, lady? he has small reason for’t.
HAR. What, done so soon? away, to’t again, to’t again,
good wench, to’t again; leave her not so: where left
you? come.
COUR. Faith, I am weary, sir.
I cannot draw her from her strict opinion
With all the arguments that sense can frame.
HAR. No? let me come.—Fie, wife, you must consent.—What
opinion is’t? let’s hear.
COUR. Fondly[756] and wilfully she retains that
thought,
That every sin is damn’d.
HAR. O, fie, fie, wife! pea, pea, pea, pea, how have you
lost your time! for shame, be converted. There’s a
diabolical opinion indeed! then you may think that usury
were damned; you’re a fine merchant, i’faith! or
bribery; you know the law well! or sloth; would some of
the clergy heard you, i’faith! or pride; you come at
court! or gluttony; you’re not worthy to dine at an
alderman’s table!
Your only deadly sin’s adultery,
That villanous ringworm, woman’s worst requital;
’Tis only lechery that’s damn’d to th’ pit-hole:
Ah, that’s an arch offence, believe it, squal!
All sins are venial but venereal.
COUR. I’ve said enough to her.
HAR. And she will be rul’d by you.
COUR. Faugh!
HAR. I’ll pawn my credit on’t. Come hither, lady,
I will not altogether rest ingrateful;
Here, wear this ruby for thy pains and counsel.
COUR. It is not so much worth, sir; I am a very ill
counsellor, truly.
HAR. Go to, I say.
COUR. You’re to blame, i’faith, sir; I shall ne’er
deserve it.
HAR. Thou hast done’t already: farewell, sweet virgin;
prithee, let’s see thee oftener.
COUR. Such gifts will soon entreat me.
[_Aside, and exit._
HAR. Wife, as thou lov’st the quiet of my breast,
Embrace her counsel, yield to her advices:
Thou wilt find comfort in ’em in the end;
Thou’lt feel an alteration: prithee, think on’t:
Mine eyes can scarce refrain.
MIS. H. Keep in your dew, sir,
Lest when you would, you want it.
HAR. I’ve pawn’d my credit on’t: ah, didst thou know
The sweet fruit once, thou’dst never let it go!
MIS. H. ’Tis that I strive to get.
HAR. And still do so. [_Exeunt._