Chapter XXI: Act III: Scene I

_A Hall in_ HAREBRAIN’S _House_.

_Enter_ HAREBRAIN, INESSE, _and_ POSSIBILITY.

POS. You see bold guests, master Harebrain.
HAR. You’re kindly welcome to my house, good master
Inesse and master Possibility.
IN. That’s our presumption, sir.
HAR. Ralph!

_Enter_ RALPH.

RAL. Here, sir.
HAR. Call down your mistress to welcome these two
gentlemen, my friends.
RAL. I shall, sir. [_Exit._
HAR. I will observe her carriage, and watch
The slippery revolutions of her eye;
I’ll lie in wait for every glance she gives,
And poise her words i’ th’ balance of suspect:
If she but swag,[798] she’s gone; either on this hand
Over familiar, or this too neglectful:
It does behove her carry herself even. [_Aside._
POS. But, master Harebrain——
HAR. True, I hear you, sir; was’t you said?
POS. I have not spoke it yet, sir.
HAR. Right, so I say.
POS. Is it not strange, that in so short a time my
little lady Gullman should be so violently handled?
HAR. O, sickness has no mercy, sir!
It neither pities lady’s lip nor eye;
It crops the rose out of the virgin’s cheek,
And so deflowers her that was ne’er deflower’d.[799]
Fools, then, are maids to lock from men that treasure
Which death will pluck, and never yield ’em pleasure.
Ah, gentlemen, though I shadow it, that sweet virgin’s
sickness grieves me not lightly! she was my wife’s only
delight and company. Did you not hear her, gentlemen, i’
th’ midst of her extremest fit, still how she called
upon my wife, remembered still my wife, sweet mistress
Harebrain? When she sent for me, a’ one side of her bed
stood the physician, the scrivener on the other; two
horrible objects, but mere opposites in the course of
their lives, for the scrivener binds folks, and the
physician makes them loose.
POS. But not loose of their bonds, sir.
HAR. No, by my faith, sir, I say not so: if the
physician could make ’em loose of their bonds, there’s
many a one would take physic, that dares not now for
poisoning. But, as I was telling of you, her will was
fashioning, wherein I found her best and richest jewel
given as a legacy unto my wife: when I read that, I
could not refrain weeping. Well, of all other my wife
has most reason to visit her; if she have any good
nature in her, she’ll shew it there.—

_Re-enter_ RALPH.

Now, sir, where’s your mistress?
RAL. She desires you, and the gentlemen your friends, to
hold her excused; sh’as a fit of an ague now upon her,
which begins to shake her.
HAR. Where does it shake her most?
RAL. All over her body, sir.
HAR. Shake all her body? ’tis a saucy fit, I’m jealous
of that ague. [_Aside._]—Pray, walk in, gentlemen; I’ll
see you instantly. [_Exeunt_ INESSE _and_ POSSIBILITY.
RAL. Now they are absent, sir, ’tis no such thing.
HAR. What?
RAL. My mistress has her health, sir,
But ’tis her suit she may confine herself
From sight of all men but your own dear self, sir;
For since the sickness of that modest virgin,
Her only company, she delights in none.
HAR. No? visit her again, commend me to her,
Tell her they’re gone, and only I myself
Walk here t’ exchange a word or two with her.
RAL. I’ll tell her so, sir. [_Exit._
HAR. Fool that I am, and madman, beast! what worse?
Suspicious o’er a creature that deserves
The best opinion and the purest thought;
Watchful o’er her that is her watch herself;
To doubt her ways that looks too narrowly
Into her own defects: I, foolish-fearful,
Have often rudely, out of giddy flames,
Barr’d her those objects which she shuns herself.
Thrice I’ve had proof of her most constant temper:
Come I at unawares by stealth upon her,
I find her circled in with divine writs
Of heavenly meditations; here and there
Chapters with leaves tuck’d up, which when I see,
They either tax pride or adultery.
Ah, let me curse myself, that could be jealous
Of her whose mind no sin can make rebellious!
And here the unmatch’d comes.

_Enter_ MISTRESS HAREBRAIN.

Now, wife, i’faith, they’re gone;
Push,[800] see how fearful ’tis! will you not credit me?
They’re gone, i’faith; why, think you I’ll betray you?
Come, come; thy delight and mine,
Thy only virtuous friend, thy sweet instructress,
Is violently taken, grievous sick,
And, which is worse, she mends not.
MIS. H. Her friends are sorry for that, sir.
HAR. She calls still upon thee, poor soul, remembers
thee still, thy name whirls in her breath; where’s
mistress Harebrain? says she.
MIS. H. Alas, good soul!
HAR. She made me weep thrice:
Sh’as put thee in a jewel in her will.
MIS. H. E’en to th’ last gasp a kind soul!
HAR. Take my man, go, visit her.
MIS. H. Pray, pardon me, sir;
Alas, my visitation cannot help her!
HAR. O, yet the kindness of a thing, wife!—Still
She holds the same rare temper. [_Aside._]—Take my man,
I say.
MIS. H. I would not take your man, sir,
Though I did purpose going.
HAR. No? thy reason.
MIS. H. The world’s condition is itself so vild,[801]
sir,
’Tis apt to judge the worst of those deserve not;
’Tis an ill-thinking age, and does apply
All to the form of its own luxury;[802]
This censure flies from one, that from another;
That man’s her squire, says he; her pimp, the tother;
She’s of the stamp, a third; fourth, I ha’ known her:
I’ve heard this, not without a burning cheek.
Then our attires are tax’d; our very gait
Is call’d in question; where[803] a husband’s presence
Scatters such thoughts, or makes ’em sink for fear
Into the hearts that breed ’em: nay, surely,
If I went, sir, I would entreat your company.
HAR. Mine? prithee, wife;—I have been there already.
MIS. H. That’s all one; although you bring me but to th’
door, sir, I would entreat no farther.
HAR. Thou’rt such a wife! why, I will bring thee thither
then, but not go up, I swear.
MIS. H. I’faith, you shall not; I do not desire it, sir.
HAR. Why, then, content.
MIS. H. Give me your hand, you will do so, sir?
HAR. Why, there’s my lip I will.
MIS. H. Why, then I go, sir.
HAR. With me, or no man! incomparable such a woman!
[_Aside._]
[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_The Courtesan’s Bed-chamber. The Courtesan[804]
discovered in bed; phials, gallipots, plates, and
an hour-glass by her._

_Enter_ PENITENT BROTHEL, _disguised as a doctor of
physic_.

PEN. B. Lady!
COUR. Ha, what news?
PEN. B. There’s one sir Bounteous Progress newly
alighted from his foot-cloth,[805] and his mare waits at
door, as the fashion is.
COUR. ’Slid, ’tis the knight that privately maintains
me; a little, short, old, spiny[806] gentleman in a
great doublet?
PEN. B. The same; I know ’m.
COUR. He’s my sole revenue, meat, drink, and raiment. My
good physician, work upon him; I’m weak.
PEN. B. Enough.

_Enter_ SIR BOUNTEOUS.

SIR B. Why, where be these ladies? these plump, soft,
delicate creatures? ha?
PEN. B. Who would you visit, sir?
SIR B. Visit, who? what are you, with the plague in your
mouth?
PEN. B. A physician, sir.
SIR B. Then you are a loose-liver, sir; I have put you
to your purgation.
PEN. B. But you need none, you’re purged in a worse
fashion.
COUR. Ah, sir Bounteous!
SIR B. How now? what art thou?
COUR. Sweet sir Bounteous!
SIR B. Passion of me, what an alteration’s here!
Rosamond sick, old Harry? here’s a sight able to make an
old man shrink! I was lusty when I came in, but I am
down now, i’faith: mortality! yea, this puts me in mind
of a hole seven foot deep; my grave, my grave, my grave.
Hist, master doctor, a word, sir; hark, ’tis not the
plague, is’t?
PEN. B. The plague, sir? no.
SIR B. Good.
PEN. B. He ne’er asks whether it be the pox or no; and
of the twain that had been more likely. [_Aside._
SIR B. How now, my wench? how dost?
COUR. Huh,—weak, knight,—huh.
PEN. B. She says true, he’s a weak knight indeed.
[_Aside._
SIR B. Where does it hold thee most, wench?
COUR. All parts alike, sir.
PEN. B. She says true still, for it holds her in none.
[_Aside._
SIR B. Hark in thine ear, thou’rt breeding of young
bones; I am afraid I have got thee with child, i’faith.
COUR. I fear that much, sir.
SIR B. O, O, if it should! a young Progress when all’s
done!
COUR. You have done your good will, sir.
SIR B. I see by her ’tis nothing but a surfeit of Venus,
i’faith; and though I be old, I have gi’n’t her;—but
since I had the power to make thee sick, I’ll have the
purse to make thee whole, that’s certain.—Master doctor.
PEN. B. Sir?
SIR B. Let’s hear, I pray, what is’t you minister to
her.
PEN. B. Marry, sir, some precious cordial, some costly
refocillation,[807] a composure comfortable and
restorative.
SIR B. Ay, ay, that, that, that.
PEN. B. No poorer ingrediences than the liquor of coral,
clear amber, or _succinum_; unicorn’s horn, six grains;
_magisterium perlarum_, one scruple——
SIR B. Ah, hah![808]
PEN. B. _Ossis de corde cervi_, half a scruple; _aurum
potabile_, or his tincture——
SIR B. Very precious, sir.
PEN. B. All which being finely contunded, and mixed in a
stone or glass mortar with the spirit of diamber——
SIR B. Nay, pray, be patient, sir.
PEN. B. That’s impossible; I cannot be patient and a
physician too, sir.
SIR B. O, cry you mercy, that’s true, sir.
PEN. B. All which aforesaid——
SIR B. Ay, there you left, sir.
PEN. B. When it is almost exsiccate or dry, I add
thereto _olei succini_, _olei masi_, _et cinnamomi_.
SIR B. So, sir, _olei masi_, that same oil of mace is a
great comfort to both the counters.[809]
PEN. B. And has been of a long time, sir.
SIR B. Well, be of good cheer, wench; there’s gold for
thee, huh.—Let her want for nothing, master doctor; a
poor kinswoman of mine, nature binds me to have a care
of her.—There I gulled you, master doctor. [_Aside._]—
Gather up a good spirit, wench! the fit will away; ’tis
but a surfeit of gristles:—ha, ha, I have fitted her: an
old knight and a cock a’ th’ game still; I have not
spurs for nothing, I see.
PEN. B. No, by my faith, they’re hatched; they cost you
an angel,[810] sir.
SIR B. Look to her, good master doctor; let her want
nothing: I’ve given her enough already, ha, ha, ha!
[_Exit._
COUR. So, is he gone?
PEN. B. He’s like himself, gone.
COUR. Here’s somewhat to set up with. How soon he took
occasion to slip into his own flattery, soothing his
own defects! He only fears he has done that deed which
I ne’er feared to come from him in my life. This
purchase[811] came unlooked for.
PEN. B. Hist, the pair of sons and heirs.
COUR. O, they’re welcome! they bring money.

_Enter_ INESSE _and_ POSSIBILITY.

POS. Master doctor.
PEN. B. I come to you, gentlemen.
POS. How does she now?
PEN. B. Faith, much after one fashion, sir.
IN. There’s hope of life, sir?
PEN. B. I see no signs of death in[812] her.
POS. That’s some comfort; will she take any thing yet?
PEN. B. Yes, yes, yes, she’ll take still; sh’as a kind
of facility in taking. How comes your band[813] bloody,
sir?
IN. You may see I met with a scab, sir.
PEN. B. _Diversa genera scabierum_, as Pliny reports,
there are divers kind of scabs.
IN. Pray, let’s hear ’em, sir.
PEN. B. An itching scab, that is your harlot; a sore
scab, your usurer; a running scab,[814] your promoter; a
broad scab, your intelligencer; but a white scab, that’s
a scald knave and a pander: but, to speak truth, the
only scabs we are now-a-days troubled withal are new
officers.[815]
IN. Why, now you come to mine, sir; for I’ll be sworn
one of them was very busy about my head this morning,
and he should be a scab by that; for they are ambitious,
and covet the head.
PEN. B. Why, you saw I derived him, sir.
IN. You physicians are mad gentlemen.
PEN. B. We physicians see the most sights of any men
living. Your astronomers look upward into th’ air, we
look downward into th’ body; and, indeed, we have power
upward and downward.
IN. That you have, i’faith, sir.
POS. Lady, how cheer you now?
COUR. The same woman still,—huh!
POS. That’s not good.
COUR. Little alteration. Fie, fie, you have been too
lavish, gentlemen.
IN. Puh, talk not of that, lady; thy health’s worth a
million.—Here, master doctor, spare for no cost.
[_Giving money._
POS. Look what you find there, sir.
COUR. What do you mean, gentlemen? put up, put up;
You see I’m down, and cannot strive with you,
I’d[816] rule you else; you have me at advantage;
But if e’er[817] I live, I will requite it deeply.
IN. Tut, an’t come to that once, we’ll requite ourselves
well enough.
POS. Mistress Harebrain, lady, is setting forth to visit
you too.
COUR. Ha?—huh!
PEN. B. There struck the minute[818] that brings forth
the birth
Of all my joys and wishes: but see the jar now!
How shall I rid these from her? [_Aside._
COUR. Pray, gentlemen,
Stay not above an hour from my sight.
IN. ’S foot, we are not going, lady!
PEN. B. Subtilely brought about! yet ’twill not do;
they’ll stick by’t.— [_Aside._
A word with you, gentlemen.
BOTH. What says master doctor?
PEN. B. She wants but settling of her sense with rest;
One hour’s sleep, gentlemen, would set all parts in
tune.
POS. He says true, i’faith.
IN. Get her to sleep, master doctor; we’ll both sit here
and watch by her.
PEN. B. Hell’s angels watch you! no art can prevail
with ’em:
What with the thought of joys, and sight of crosses,
My wits are at Hercules’ Pillars; _non plus ultra_.
[_Aside._
COUR. Master doctor, master doctor!
PEN. B. Here, lady.
COUR. Your physic works; lend me your hand.
POS. Farewell, sweet lady.
IN. Adieu, master doctor.
[_Exeunt_ POSSIBILITY _and_ INESSE.
COUR. So.
PEN. B. Let me admire thee!
The wit of man wanes and decreases soon,
But women’s wit is ever at full moon.

_Enter_ MISTRESS HAREBRAIN.

There shot a star from heaven!
I dare not yet behold my happiness,
The splendour is so glorious and so piercing.
COUR. Mistress Harebrain, give my wit thanks hereafter;
your wishes are in sight, your opportunity spacious.
MIS. H. Will you but hear a word from me?
COUR. Whooh!
MIS. H. My husband himself brought me to th’ door, walks
below for my return; jealousy is prick-eared, and will
hear the wagging of a hair.
COUR. Pish, you’re a faint liver; trust yourself with
your pleasure, and me with your security; go.
PEN. B. The fulness of my wish!
MIS. H. Of my desire!
PEN. B. Beyond this sphere I never will aspire!
[_Exeunt_ PEN. BROTHEL _and_ MIS. HAREBRAIN.
[HAREBRAIN _opens the door and listens;
the Courtesan perceiving him_.
HAR. I’ll listen: now the flesh draws nigh her end,
At such a time women exchange their secrets,
And ransack the close corners of their hearts:
What many years have[819] whelm’d, this hour imparts.
[_Aside._
COUR. Pray, sit down, there’s a low stool. Good mistress
Harebrain, this was kindly done,—huh,—give me your
hand,—huh,—alas, how cold you are! even so is your
husband, that worthy, wise gentleman; as comfortable a
man to woman in my case as ever trod—huh—shoe-leather.
Love him, honour him, stick by him: he lets you want
nothing that’s fit for a woman; and, to be sure on’t, he
will see himself that you want it not.
HAR. And so I do, i’faith; ’tis right my humour.
[_Aside._
COUR. You live a lady’s life with him; go where you
will, ride when you will, and do what you will.
HAR. Not so, not so, neither; she’s better looked to.
[_Aside._
COUR. I know you do, you need not tell me that: ’twere
e’en pity of your life, i’faith, if ever you should
wrong such an innocent gentleman. Fie, mistress
Harebrain, what do you mean? come you to discomfort me?
nothing but weeping with you?
HAR. She’s weeping! t’as made her weep: my wife shews
her good nature already. [_Aside._
COUR. Still, still weeping? huff, huff, huff; why, how
now, woman? hey, hy, hy, for shame, leave; suh, suh, she
cannot answer me for snobbing.[820]
HAR. All this does her good; beshrew my heart, and[821]
I pity her; let her shed tears till morning, I’ll stay
for her. She shall have enough on’t, by my good will;
I’ll not be her hinderance. [_Aside._
COUR. O no! lay your hand here, mistress Harebrain; ay,
there: O there, there lies my pain, good gentlewoman!
Sore? O ay, I can scarce endure your hand upon’t!
HAR. Poor soul, how she’s tormented! [_Aside._
COUR. Yes, yes; I eat a cullis[822] an hour since.
HAR. There’s some comfort in that yet, she may ’scape
it. [_Aside._
COUR. O, it lies about my heart much!
HAR. I’m sorry for that, i’faith; she’ll hardly ’scape
it. [_Aside._
COUR. Bound? no, no; I’d a very comfortable stool this
morning.
HAR. I’m glad of that, i’faith, that’s a good sign; I
smell she’ll ’scape it now. [_Aside._
COUR. Will you be going then?
HAR. Fall back, she’s coming. [_Aside._
COUR. Thanks, good mistress Harebrain; welcome, sweet
mistress Harebrain; pray, commend me to the good
gentleman your husband.
HAR. I could do that myself now. [_Aside._
COUR. And to my uncle Winchcomb, and to my aunt
Lipsalve, and to my cousin Falsetop, and to my cousin
Lickit, and to my cousin Horseman, and to all my good
cousins in Clerkenwell and St. John’s.

_Re-enter_ MIS. HAREBRAIN _and_ PEN. BROTHEL.

MIS. H. At three days’ end my husband takes a journey.
PEN. B. O thence I derive a second meeting!
MIS. H. May it prosper still!
Till then I rest a captive to his will.—
Once again, health, rest, and strength to thee, sweet
lady: farewell, you witty squall.—Good master doctor,
have a care to her body; if you stand her friend, I know
you can do her good.
COUR. Take pity of your waiter; go: farewell, sweet
mistress Harebrain.
HAR. [_coming forward_] Welcome, sweet wife, alight
upon my lip!
Never was hour spent better.
MIS. H. Why, were you
Within the hearing, sir?
HAR. Ay, that I was, i’faith,
To my great comfort; I deceiv’d you there, wife;
Ha, ha!
I do entreat thee, nay, conjure thee, wife,
Upon my love, or what can more be said,
Oftener to visit this sick virtuous maid.
MIS. H. Be not so fierce, your will shall be obey’d.
HAR. Why, then, I see thou lov’st me.
[_Exit with_ MIS. HAREBRAIN.
PEN. B. Art of ladies!
When plots are e’en past hope, and hang their head,
Set with a woman’s hand, they thrive and spread.
[_Exit._

SCENE III.

_A Room._[823]

_Enter_ FOLLYWIT, MAWWORM, HOBOY, _and others_.

FOL. Was’t not well managed, you necessary mischiefs?
did the plot want either life or art?
MAW. ’Twas so well, captain, I would you could make such
another muss[824] at all adventures.
FOL. Dost call’t a muss? I am sure my grandsire ne’er
got his money worse in his life than I got it from him.
If ever he did cozen the simple, why, I was born to
revenge their quarrel; if ever oppress the widow, I, a
fatherless child, have done as much for him. And so ’tis
through the world, either in jest or earnest. Let the
usurer look for’t; for craft recoils in the end, like an
overcharged musket, and maims the very hand that puts
fire to’t. There needs no more but a usurer’s own blow
to strike him from hence to hell; ’twill set him forward
with a vengeance. But here lay the jest, whoresons; my
grandsire, thinking in his conscience that we had not
robbed him enough o’ernight, must needs pity me i’ th’
morning, and give me the rest.
MAW. Two hundred pounds in fair rose-nobles,[825] I
protest.
FOL. Push,[826] I knew he could not sleep quietly till
he had paid me for robbing of him too: ’tis his humour,
and the humour of most of your rich men in the course of
their lives; for, you know, they always feast those
mouths that are least needy, and give them more that
have too much already; and what call you that but
robbing of themselves a courtlier way?—O!——
MAW. Cuds me, how now, captain?
FOL. A cold fit that comes over my memory, and has a
shrewd pull at my fortunes.
MAW. What’s that, sir?
FOL. Is it for certain, lieutenant, that my grandsire
keeps an uncertain creature, a quean?
MAW. Ay, that’s too true, sir.
FOL. So much the more preposterous for me; I shall hop
shorter by that trick; she carries away the thirds at
least: ’twill prove entailed land, I am afraid, when
all’s done, i’faith. Nay,
I’ve[827] known a vicious old thought-acting father
Damn’d only in his dreams, thirsting for game
(When his best parts hung down their heads for shame),
For his blanch’d harlot[828] dispossess his son,
And make the pox his heir; ’twas gravely done!
How hadst thou first knowledge on’t, lieutenant?
MAW. Faith, from discourse; yet, all the policy
That I could use, I could not get her name.
FOL. Dull slave, that ne’er could’st spy it!
MAW. But the manner of her coming was described to me.
FOL. How is the manner, prithee?
MAW. Marry, sir, she comes most commonly coached.
FOL. Most commonly coached, indeed; for coaches are as
common now-a-days as some that ride in ’em. She comes
most commonly coached?
MAW. True, there I left, sir; guarded with some leash of
pimps.
FOL. Beside the coachman?
MAW. Right, sir; then alighting, she’s privately
received by master Gumwater.
FOL. That’s my grandsire’s chief gentleman[829] i’ th’
chain of gold: that he should live to be a pander, and
yet look upon his chain and his velvet jacket!
MAW. Then is your grandsire rounded[830] i’ th’ ear; the
key given after the Italian fashion, backward; she
closely conveyed into his closet; there remaining, till
either opportunity smile upon his credit, or he send
down some hot caudle to take order in his performance.
FOL. Peace, ’tis mine own, i’faith; I ha’t!
MAW. How now, sir?
FOL. Thanks, thanks to any spirit
That mingled it ’mongst my inventions!
HOB. Why, master Follywit——
THE REST.[831] Captain——
FOL. Give me scope, and hear me.
I’ve[832] begot that means, which will both furnish me,
And make that quean walk under his conceit.
MAW. That were double happiness; to put thyself into
money, and her out of favour.
FOL. And all at one dealing.
HOB. ’S foot, I long to see that hand played!
FOL. And thou shalt see’t quickly, i’faith: nay, ’tis in
grain; I warrant it hold colour. Lieutenant, step behind
yon hanging: if I mistook not at my entrance, there
hangs the lower part of a gentlewoman’s gown, with a
mask and a chinclout:[833] bring all this way. Nay, but
do’t cunningly, now; ’tis a friend’s house, and I’d use
it so; there’s a taste for you. [_Exit_ MAWWORM.
HOB. But, prithee, what wilt thou do with a
gentlewoman’s lower part?
FOL. Why, use it.
HOB. You’ve answered me, indeed, in that; I can demand
no farther.
FOL. Well said.—Lieutenant——

_Re-enter_ MAWWORM _with gown, &c._

MAW. What will you do now, sir?
FOL. Come, come, thou shalt see a woman quickly made up
here.
MAW. But that’s against kind,[834] captain; for they are
always long a-making ready.[835]
FOL. And is not most they do against kind, I prithee? To
lie with their horse-keeper, is not that against kind?
to wear half moons[836] made of another’s hair, is not
that against kind? to drink down a man, she that should
set him up, pray is not that monstrously against kind
now? Nay, over with it, lieutenant, over with it; ever
while you live put a woman’s clothes over her head:
Cupid plays best at blindman buff.
MAW. You shall have your will, maintenance; I love mad
tricks as well as you for your heart, sir: but what
shift will you make for upper-bodies, captain?
FOL. I see now thou’rt an ass; why, I’m ready.
MAW. Ready?
FOL. Why, the doublet serves as well as the best, and is
most in fashion; we’re all male to th’ middle; mankind
from the beaver to th’ bum. ’Tis an Amazonian time; you
shall have women shortly tread their husbands. I should
have a couple of locks behind; prithee, lieutenant, find
’em out for me, and wind ’em about my hatband: nay, you
shall see, we’ll be in fashion to a hair, and become all
with probability: the most musty-visage critic shall not
except against me.
MAW. Nay, I’ll give thee thy due behind thy back; thou
art as mad a piece of clay——
FOL. Clay! dost call thy captain clay? Indeed, clay was
made to stop holes; he says true. Did not I tell you,
rascals, you should see a woman quickly made up?
HOB. I’ll swear for’t, captain.
FOL. Come, come, my mask and my chinclout—come into th’
court.
MAW. Nay, they were both i’ th’ court long ago, sir.
FOL. Let me see; where shall I choose two or three for
pimps, now? but I cannot choose amiss amongst you all,
that’s the best. Well, as I am a quean, you were best
have a care of me, and guard me sure. I give you warning
beforehand; ’tis a monkey-tailed age. Life, you shall go
nigh to have half a dozen blithe fellows surprise me
cowardly, carry me away with a pair of oars, and put in
at Putney!
MAW. We should laugh at that, i’faith.
FOL. Or shoot in upo’ th’ coast of Cue.[837]
MAW. Two notable fit landing-places for lechers, P and
C, Putney and Cue.
FOL. Well, say you have fair warning on’t; the hair
about the hat is as good as a flag[838] upo’ th’ pole at
a common play-house, to waft company; and a chinclout is
of that powerful attraction, I can tell you, ’twill draw
more linen to’t.
MAW. Fear not us, captain; there’s none here but can
fight for a whore as well as some Inns-a’-court-man.
FOL. Why, then, set forward; and as you scorn
two-shilling brothel,
Twelvepenny panderism, and such base bribes,
Guard me from bonny scribs and bony scribes.[839]
MAW. Hang ’em, pensions and allowances! four-pence
halfpenny a meal, hang ’em! [_Exeunt._