Chapter XXIII: Act V: Scene I

_A Room in_ SIR BOUNTEOUS’S _House_.

_Enter_ SIR BOUNTEOUS:[891] GUMWATER _and Servants pass
over the stage_.

SIR B. Have a care, blue coats.[892] Bestir yourself,
master Gumwater; cast an eye into th’ kitchen; o’erlook
the knaves a little. Every Jack has his friend to-day;
this cousin, and that cousin, puts in for a dish of
meat: a man knows not, till he make a feast, how many
varlets he feeds; acquaintances swarm in every corner,
like flies at Bartholomew-tide, that come up with
drovers; ’s foot, I think they smell my kitchen seven
mile about.—

_Enter_ HAREBRAIN, MIS. HAREBRAIN, _and_ PENITENT
BROTHEL.

Master Harebrain,[893] and his sweet bedfellow! you’re
very copiously welcome.

HAR. Sir, here’s an especial dear friend of ours: we
were bold to make his way to your table.
SIR B. Thanks for that boldness ever, good master
Harebrain: is this your friend, sir?
HAR. Both my wife’s friend and mine, sir.
SIR B. Why, then, compendiously, sir, you’re welcome.
PEN. B. In octavo I thank you, sir.
SIR B. Excellently retorted, i’faith! he’s welcome for’s
wit: I have my sorts of salutes, and know how to place
’em courtly. Walk in, sweet gentlemen, walk in; there’s
a good fire i’ th’ hall; you shall have my sweet company
instantly.
HAR. Ay, good sir Bounteous.
SIR B. You shall indeed, gentlemen. [_Exeunt_ HAREBRAIN,
MIS. HAREBRAIN, _and_ PEN. BROTHEL.]

_Enter_ SEMUS.

—How now? what news brings thee in stumbling now?
SEM. There are certain players come to town, sir, and
desire to interlude before your worship.
SIR B. Players? by the mass, they are welcome; they’ll
grace my entertainment well: but for certain players,
there thou liest, boy; they were never more uncertain in
their lives; now up, and now down; they know not when to
play, where to play, nor what to play: not when to play,
for fearful fools; where to play, for puritan fools; nor
what to play, for critical fools. Go, call ’em in.
[_Exit_ SEMUS.]—How fitly the whoresons come upo’ th’
feast! troth, I was e’en wishing for ’em.

_Re-enter_ SEMUS _with_ FOLLYWIT, MAWWORM, HOBOY, _and
others, disguised as players_.

O welcome, welcome, my friends!
FOL. The month of May delights not in her flowers
More than we joy in that sweet sight of yours.
SIR B. Well acted, a’ my credit! I perceive he’s your
best actor.
SEM. He has greatest share,[894] sir, and may live of
himself, sir.
SIR B. What, what?—Put on your hat, sir, pray, put on;
go to, wealth must be respected: let those that have
least feathers stand bare. And whose men are you, I
pray?—nay, keep on your hat still.
FOL. We serve my lord Owemuch, sir.
SIR B. My lord Owemuch? by my troth, the welcomest men
alive! give me all your hands at once! That honourable
gentleman, he lay at my house in a robbery once, and
took all quietly, went away cheerfully: I made a very
good feast for him: I never saw a man of honour bear
things bravelier away. Serve my lord Owemuch? welcome,
i’faith!—Some bastard[895] for my lord’s players!
[_Exit_ SEMUS, _and returns with wine_.]—Where be
your[896] boys?
FOL. They come along with the waggon, sir.
SIR B. Good, good; and which is your politician amongst
you? now, i’faith, he that works out restraints, makes
best legs at court, and has a suit made of purpose for
the company’s business; which is he? come, be not afraid
of him.
FOL. I am he, sir.
SIR B. Art thou he? give me thy hand. Hark in thine ear:
thou rollest too fast to gather so much moss as thy
fellow there; champ upon that. Ah, and what play shall
we have, my masters?
FOL. A pleasant, witty comedy, sir.
SIR B. Ay, ay, ay; a comedy in any case, that I and my
guests may laugh a little: what’s the name on’t?
FOL. ’Tis called _The Slip_.
SIR B. _The Slip?_ by my troth, a pretty name, and a
glib one: go all, and slip into’t, as fast as you can.
Cover a table for the players! First take heed of a
lurcher; he cuts deep, he will eat up all from you.—Some
sherry for my lord’s players there! Sirrah, why this
will be a true feast, a right Mitre[897] supper, a play
and all. [_Exeunt_ FOLLYWIT, MAWWORM, HOBOY, _and
others, with_ SEMUS.] More lights!

_Enter Mother and Courtesan._

I called for light; here come in two are light enough
for a whole house, i’faith. Dare the thief look me i’
th’ face? O impudent times! Go to, dissemble it!
MOT. Bless you, sir Bounteous!
SIR B. O welcome, welcome, thief, quean, and bawd!
welcome all three!
MOT. Nay, here’s but two on’s, sir.
SIR B. ’A my troth, I took her for a couple; I’d have
sworn there had been two faces there.
MOT. Not all under one hood, sir.
SIR B. Yes, faith, would I, to see mine eyes bear
double.
MOT. I’ll make it hold, sir; my daughter is a couple,
She was married yesterday.
SIR B. Buz![898]
MOT. Nay, to no buzzard neither; a right hawk,
Whene’er you know him.
SIR B. Away! he cannot be but a rascal.
Walk in, walk in, bold guests, that come unsent for!
[_Exit Mother._

Pox,[899] I perceive how my jewels went now,
To grace her marriage. [_Aside._
COUR. Would you with me, sir?
SIR B. Ay;
How hapt it, wench, you put the slip upon me,
Not three nights since? I name it gently to you;
I term it neither pilfer,[900] cheat, nor shark.
COUR. You’re past my reach.
SIR B. I’m old, and past your reach, very good; but you
will not deny this, I trust.
COUR. With a safe conscience, sir.
SIR B. Yea? give me thy hand; fare thee[901] well.—I
have done with her.[902]
COUR. Give me your hand, sir; you ne’er yet begun with
me. [_Exit._
SIR B. Whew, whew![903] O audacious age!
She denies me, and all, when on her fingers
I spied the ruby sit, that does betray her,
And blushes for her fact! Well, there’s a time for’t,
For all’s too little now for entertainment,
Feast, mirth, ay, harmony, and the play to boot;
A jovial season.—

_Re-enter_ FOLLYWIT.

How now, are you ready?
FOL. Even upon readiness, sir.
SIR B. Keep you your hat on.
FOL. I have a suit to your worship.
SIR B. O, cry you mercy; then you must stand bare.
FOL. We could do all to the life of action, sir, both
for the credit of your worship’s house, and the grace of
our comedy——
SIR B. Cuds me, what else, sir?
FOL. And for some defects, as the custom is, we would be
bold to require your worship’s assistance.
SIR B. Why, with all my heart; what is’t you want?
speak.
FOL. One’s a chain for a justice’s hat, sir.
SIR B. Why, here, here, here, here, whoreson; will this
serve your turn? [_Giving chain._
FOL. Excellent well, sir.[904]
SIR B. What else lack you?
FOL. We should use a ring with a stone in’t.
SIR B. Nay, whoop, I have given too many rings already;
talk no more of rings, I pray you: here, here, here,
make this jewel serve for once. [_Giving jewel._
FOL. O this will serve, sir.
SIR B. What, have you all now?
FOL. All now, sir; only Time is brought i’ th’ middle of
the play, and I would desire your worship’s watch-time.
SIR B. My watch? with all my heart; only give
Time a charge, that he be not fiddling with it.
[_Giving watch._
FOL. You shall ne’er see that, sir.
SIR B. Well, now you are furnish’d, sir, make haste;
away.
FOL. E’en as fast as I can, sir: I’ll set my fellows
going first;
They must have time and leisure, or they’re dull else.
[_Exit_ SIR BOUNTEOUS.
I’ll stay and speak a prologue, yet o’ertake ’em:
I cannot have conscience, i’faith, to go away,
And ne’er[905] a word to ’em. My grandsire has given me
Three shares[906] here; sure I’ll do somewhat for ’em.
[_Exit._

SCENE II.

_A Hall in_ SIR BOUNTEOUS’S _House_.

_Enter_ SIR BOUNTEOUS, HAREBRAIN, MIS. HAREBRAIN, PENITENT
BROTHEL, _and other guests_; _Courtesan and Mother_;
GUMWATER _and Servants_.

SIR B. More lights, more stools! sit, sit: the plays
begins.
HAR.[907] Have you players here, sir Bounteous?
SIR B. We have ’em for you, sir; fine nimble comedians,
proper actors most of them.
PEN. B. Whose men, I pray you, sir?
SIR B. O, there’s their credit, sir! they serve an
honourable popular gentleman, ycleped[908] my lord
Owemuch.
HAR. My lord Owemuch? he was in Ireland lately.
SIR B. O, you ne’er knew any of the name but were great
travellers.
HAR. How is the comedy called, sir Bounteous?
SIR B. Marry, sir, _The Slip_.
HAR. _The Slip?_

_Enter, for Prologue_, FOLLYWIT.

SIR B. Ay, and here the prologue begins to slip in
upon’s.
HAR. ’Tis so indeed, sir Bounteous.
FOL. _We sing of wandering knights, what them betide,
Who nor in one place nor one shape abide;
They’re here now, and anon no scouts can reach ’em,
Being every man well hors’d like a bold Beacham.[909]
The play which we present no fault shall meet
But one; you’ll say ’tis short, we’ll say ’tis sweet:
’Tis given much to dumb shews, which some praise;
And, like the term, delights much in delays.
So to conclude, and give the name her due,
The play being call’d_ THE SLIP, _I vanish too_.
[_Exit._
SIR B. Excellently well acted, and a nimble conceit!
HAR. The prologue’s pretty, i’faith.
PEN. B. And went off well.
SIR B. Ay, that’s the grace of all, when they go away
well, ah, hah![910]
COUR. A’ my troth, and[911] I were not married, I could
find in my heart to fall in love with that player now,
and send for him to a supper.[912] I know some i’ th’
town that have done as much, and there took such a good
conceit of their parts into th’ two-penny room,[913]
that the actors have been found i’ th’ morning in a less
compass than their stage, though ’twere ne’er so full of
gentlemen.[914]
SIR B. But, passion of me, where be these knaves? will
they not come away? methinks they stay very long.
PEN. B. O, you must bear a little, sir; they have many
shifts to run into.
SIR B. Shifts call you ’em? they’re horrible long
things.

_Re-enter_ FOLLYWIT _in a fury_.

FOL. A pox of such fortune, the plot’s betrayed! all
will come out! yonder they come, taken upon suspicion,
and brought back by a constable. I was accursed to hold
society with such coxcombs! what’s to be done? I shall
be shamed for ever! My wife here, and all! ah, pox—by
light, happily thought upon! the chain. Invention stick
to me this once, and fail me ever hereafter! so, so——
[_Aside._
SIR B. Life, I say, where be these players?—O, are you
come? troth, it’s time; I was e’en sending for you.
HAR. How moodily he walks! what plays he trow?[915]
SIR B. A[916] justice, upon my credit; I know by the
chain there.
FOL. _Unfortunate justice!_
SIR B. Ah—a—a—
FOL. _In thy kin unfortunate!
Here comes thy nephew now upon suspicion,
Brought by a constable before thee; his vild[917]
Associates with him;
But so disguis’d, none knows him but myself.
Twice have I set him free from officers’ fangs,
And for his sake his fellows: let him look to’t;
My conscience will permit but one wink more._
SIR B. Yea, shall we take justice winking?
FOL. _For this time
I have bethought a means to work thy freedom,
Though hazarding myself. Should the law seize him,
Being kin to me, ’twould blemish much my name:
No; I’d rather lean to danger than to shame._
SIR B. A very explete justice!
CON. [_within_] Thank you, good neighbours; let me alone
with ’em now.

_Enter Constable with_ MAWWORM, HOBOY, _and the rest of_
FOLLYWIT’S _companions_.

MAW. ’S foot, who’s yonder?
HOB. Dare he sit there?
THIRD C. Follywit!
FOURTH C. Captain! pooh—
FOL. _How now, constable? what news with thee?_
CON. May it please your worship, sir, here are a company
of auspicious fellows.
SIR B. To me? pooh, turn to th’ justice, you whoreson
hobby-horse!—This is some new player now; they put all
their fools to the constable’s part still.
FOL. _What’s the matter, constable? what’s the matter?_
CON. I have nothing to say to your worship.—They were
all riding a’ horseback, an’t please your worship.
SIR B. Yet again? a pox of all asses still! they could
not ride a’ foot, unless ’twere in a bawdy-house.
CON. The ostler told me they were all unstable fellows,
sir.
FOL. _Why, sure the fellow’s drunk?_
MAW. We spied that weakness in him long ago, sir;
Your worship must bear with him, the man’s much
o’erseen;
Only in respect of his office we obey’d him.
Both to appear conformable to law,
And clear of all offence; for I protest, sir,
He found us but a’ horseback.
FOL. _What, he did?_
MAW. As I have a soul, that’s all, and all he can lay to
us.
CON. I’faith, you were not all riding away then?
MAW. ’S foot, being a’ horseback, sir, that must needs
follow.
FOL. _Why, true, sir._
SIR B. Well said, justice! he helps his kinsman well.
FOL. _Why, sirrah, do you use to bring gentlemen before
us for riding away? what, will you have ’em stand still
when they’re up, like Smug upo’ th’ white horse yonder?
are your wits steeped? I’ll make you an example for all
ditch[918] constables, how they abuse justice.—Here,
bind him to this chair._
CON. Ha, bind him? ho!
FOL. _If you want cords, use garters._
[MAWWORM, HOBOY, _&c. bind the Constable_.
CON. Help, help, gentlemen!
MAW. As fast as we can, sir.
CON. Thieves, thieves!
FOL. _A gag will help all this: keep less noise, you
knave._
CON. O help! rescue the constable; O, O!
[_They gag him._
SIR B. Ho, ho, ho, ho!
FOL. _Why, la, you, who lets you[919] now?
You may ride quietly; I’ll see you to
Take horse myself, I have nothing else to do._
[_Exeunt_ FOLLYWIT, MAWWORM, HOBOY, _and others_.
CON. O, O, O!
SIR B. Ha, ha, ha! by my troth, the maddest piece of
justice, gentlemen, that ever was committed.
HAR. I’ll be sworn for the madness on’t, sir.
SIR B. I am deceived, if this prove not a merry comedy
and a witty.
PEN. B. Alas, poor constable! his mouth’s open, and
ne’er a wise word.
SIR B. Faith, he speaks now e’en as many as he has done;
he seems wisest when he gapes and says nothing. Ha, ha!
he turns and tells his tale to me like an ass. What have
I to do with their riding away? They may ride for me,
thou whoreson coxcomb, thou! nay, thou art well enough
served, i’faith.
PEN. B. But what follows all this while, sir? methinks
some should pass by before this time, and pity the
constable.
SIR B. By th’ mass, and you say true, sir.—Go, sirrah,
step in; I think they have forgot themselves; call the
knaves away; they’re in a wood, I believe.
[_Exit Servant._
CON. Ay, ay, ay!
SIR B. Hark, the constable says ay, they’re in a wood:
ha, ha!
GUM.[920] He thinks long of the time, sir Bounteous.

_Re-enter Servant._

SIR B. How now? when come they?
SER. Alas, an’t please your worship, there’s not one of
them to be found, sir!
SIR B. How?
HAR. What says the fellow?
SER. Neither horse nor man, sir.
SIR B. Body of me! thou liest.
SER. Not a hair of either, sir.
HAR. How now, sir Bounteous?
SIR B. Cheated and defeated! Ungag that rascal; I’ll
hang him for’s fellows; I’ll make him bring ’em out.
[_They ungag Constable._
CON. Did not I tell your worship this before?
Brought ’em before you for suspected persons?
Stay’d ’em at town’s end upon warning given?
Made signs that my very jaw-bone aches?[921]
Your worship would not hear me; call’d me ass,
Saving your worship’s presence, laugh’d at me.
SIR B. Ha!
HAR. I begin to taste it.
SIR B. Give me leave, give me leave. Why, art not thou
the constable i’ th’ comedy?
CON. I’ th’ comedy? why, I am the constable i’ th’
commonwealth, sir.
SIR B. I’m[922] gull’d, i’faith, I’m gull’d! When wast
thou chose?
CON. On Thursday last, sir.
SIR B. A pox go with’t! there’t goes.
PEN. B. I seldom heard jest match it.
HAR. Nor I, i’faith?
SIR B. Gentlemen, shall I entreat a courtesy?
HAR. What is’t, sir?
SIR B. Do not laugh at me seven year hence.
PEN. B. We should betray and laugh at our own folly
then,
For, of my troth, none here but was deceiv’d in’t.
SIR B. Faith, that’s some comfort yet; ha, ha! it was
featly carried; troth, I commend their wits; before our
faces make us asses, while we sit still and only laugh
at ourselves!
PEN. B. Faith, they were some counterfeit rogues, sir.
SIR B. Why, they confess so much themselves; they said
they’d play _The Slip_;[923] they should be men of their
words. I hope the justice will have more conscience,
i’faith, than to carry away a chain of a hundred
mark[924] of that fashion.
HAR. What, sir?
SIR B. Ay, by my troth, sir;
Besides a jewel and a jewel’s fellow,
A good fair watch, that hung about my neck, sir.
HAR. ’S foot, what did you mean, sir?
SIR B. Methinks my lord Owemuch’s players should not
scorn me so, i’faith; they will come, and bring all
again, I know; push,[925] they will, i’faith; but a
jest, certainly.

_Re-enter_ FOLLYWIT _in his own dress, with_ MAWWORM,
HOBOY, _and others_.

FOL. Pray, grandsire, give me your blessing.
SIR B. Who? son Follywit? [_Kneeling._
FOL. This shews like kneeling after the play;[926] I
praying for my lord Owemuch and his good countess, our
honourable lady and mistress.
[_Aside._
SIR B. Rise, richer by a blessing; thou art welcome.
FOL. Thanks, good grandsire; I was bold to bring
Those gentlemen, my friends.
SIR B. They’re all welcome!
Salute you that side, and I’ll welcome this side.—
Sir, to begin with you.
HAR. Master Follywit!
FOL. I am glad ’tis our fortune so happily to meet, sir.
SIR B. Nay, then, you know me not, sir.
FOL. Sweet mistress Harebrain!
SIR B. You cannot be too bold, sir.
FOL. Our marriage known?
COUR. Not a word yet.
FOL. The better.
SIR B. Faith, son, would you had come sooner with these
gentlemen!
FOL. Why, grandsire?
SIR B. We had a play here.
FOL. A play, sir? no?
SIR B. Yes, faith! a pox a’ th’ author!
FOL. Bless us all! why, were they such vild[927] ones,
sir?
SIR B. I am sure villanous ones, sir.
FOL. Some raw, simple fools!
SIR B. Nay, by th’ mass, these were enough for thievish
knaves.
FOL. What, sir?
SIR B. Which way came you, gentlemen? you could not
choose but meet ’em.
FOL. We met a company with hampers after ’em.
SIR B. O, those were they, those were they! A pox hamper
’em!
FOL. Bless us all again!
SIR B. They have hampered me finely, sirrah.
FOL. How,[928] sir?
SIR B. How, sir? I lent the rascals properties[929] to
furnish out their play, a chain, a jewel, and a watch;
and they watched their time, and rid quite away with
’em.
FOL. Are they such creatures?
SIR B. Hark, hark, gentlemen! by this light, the watch
rings alarum in his pocket! there’s my watch come
again, or the very cousin-german to’t: whose is’t,
whose is’t? by th’ mass, ’tis he! hast thou one, son?
prithee, bestow it upon thy grand-sire; I now look for
mine again, i’faith: nay, come with a good will, or
not at all; I’ll give thee a better thing.—A prize, a
prize,[930] gentlemen!
[_Draws chain, &c. out of_ FOLLYWIT’S _pocket_.
HAR. Great or small?
SIR B. At once I’ve[931] drawn chain, jewel, watch,
and all.
PEN. B. By my faith, you have a fortunate hand, sir!
HAR. Nay, all to come at once!
MAW. A vengeance of this foolery!
FOL. Have I ’scaped the constable to be brought in by
the watch?
COUR. O destiny! have I married a thief, mother?
MOT. Comfort thyself; thou art beforehand with him,
daughter.
SIR B. Why, son, why, gentlemen, how long have you been
my lord Owemuch his servants, i’faith?
FOL. Faith, grandsire, shall I be true to you?
SIR B. I think ’tis time; thou’st been a thief
already.
FOL. I, knowing the day of your feast, and the natural
inclination you have to pleasure and pastime, presumed
upon your patience for a jest, as well to prolong your
days as——
SIR B. Whoop! why, then, you took my chain along with
you to prolong my days, did you?
FOL. Not so neither, sir;
And that you may be seriously assur’d
Of my hereafter stableness of life,
I have took another course.
SIR B. What?
FOL. Took a wife.
SIR B. A wife! ’s foot, what is she for a fool[932]
would marry thee, a madman? when was the wedding kept?
in Bedlam?
FOL. She’s both a gentlewoman and a virgin.
SIR B. Stop there, stop there: would I might see her!
FOL. You have your wish; she’s here.
SIR B. Ah, ha, ha, ha! this makes amends for all.
FOL. How now?
MAW. Captain, do you hear? is she your wife in earnest?
FOL. How then?
MAW. Nothing, but pity you, sir.
SIR B. Speak, son; is’t true?
Can you gull us, and let a quean gull you?
FOL. Ha!
COUR. What I have been is past; be that forgiven,
And have a soul true both to thee and heaven!
FOL. Is’t come about? tricks are repaid, I see.
SIR B. The best is, sirrah, you pledge none but me;
And since I drink the top, take her—and, hark,
I spice the bottom with a thousand mark.[933]
FOL. By my troth, she is as good a cup of nectar as any
bachelor needs to sip at.
Tut, give me gold, it makes amends for vice;
Maids without coin are caudles without spice.
SIR B. Come, gentlemen, to th’ feast; let not time
waste;
We’ve[934] pleas’d our ear, now let us please our taste.
Who lives by cunning, mark it, his fate’s cast;
When he has gull’d all, then is himself the last.
[_Exeunt omnes._[935]

--------------

_The Catch[936] for the Fifth Act, sung by_ SIR
BOUNTEOUS PROGRESS _to his guests_.

O for a bowl of fat canary,
Rich Aristippus,[937] sparkling sherry!
Some nectar else from Juno’s dairy;
O these draughts would make us merry!

O for a wench! I deal in faces,
And in other daintier things;
Tickled am I with her embraces;
Fine dancing in such fairy rings!

O for a plump, fat leg of mutton,
Veal, lamb, capon, pig, and cony!
None is happy but a glutton,
None an ass but who wants money.

Wines, indeed, and girls are good,
But brave victuals feast the blood:
For wenches, wine, and lusty cheer,
Jove would come down to surfeit here.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE ROARING GIRL.

_The Roaring Girle. Or Moll Cut-Purse. As it hath
lately beene Acted on the Fortune-stage by the
Prince his Players. Written by T. Middleton and T.
Dekkar. Printed at London for Thomas Archer, and
are to be sold at his shop in Popes head-pallace,
neere the Royall Exchange._ 1611. 4to. On the
title-page is the woodcut, a fac-simile of which
is now given, representing Moll in her male dress,
with these words running along the inner margin,—
“_My case is alter’d, I must worke for my
liuing_.”

This drama has been reprinted in the sixth vol. of
the last two editions of Dodsley’s _Old Plays_.

_Roaring Boys_ was a cant term for the riotous,
quarrelsome blades of the time, who abounded in
London, and took pleasure in annoying its quieter
inhabitants. Of _Roaring Girls_, the heroine of
the present play was the choicest specimen. Her
real name was Mary Frith, though she was most
commonly known by that of Moll Cutpurse. According
to the author of her _Life_,[938] “she was born
A.D. 1589, in Barbican, at the upper end of
Aldersgate Street,” p. 3; but Malone,[939] more
correctly it should seem, has fixed her birth in
1584. “From the first entrance into a competency
of age,” she assumed the doublet, “and to her
dying day she would not leave it off, till the
infirmity and weaknesse of nature had brought her
a-bed to her last travail, changed it for a
wastcoat, and her pettycoats for a winding-sheet,”
_Life_, p. 18. She was distinguished in the
different characters of bully, prostitute,
procuress, fortune-teller, thief, pickpocket,
receiver of stolen goods, and forger of writings.
A letter from John Chamberlain to Mr. Carleton,
dated Feb. 11, 1611-12, gives the following
account of her doing penance: “The last Sunday
Moll Cutpurse, a notorious baggage that used to go
in man’s apparel, and challenged the field of
diverse gallants; was brought to the same place
[Paul’s Cross], where she wept bitterly, and
seemed very penitent; but it is since doubted she
was maudlin drunk, being discovered to have
tippel’d of three quarts of sack before she came
to her penance. She had the daintiest preacher or
ghostly father that ever I saw in the pulpit, one
Radcliffe of Brazen-Nose College in Oxford, a
likelier man to have led the revels in some inn of
court, than to be where he was. But the best is,
he did extreme badly, and so wearied the audience,
that the best part went away, and the rest tarried
rather to hear Moll Cutpurse than him.”[940] With
the preceding extract let us compare what the
“fair penitent” is made to say in the _Life_
already quoted: “Some promooting Apparitor, set on
by an adversary of mine, whom I could never
punctually know, cited me to appear in the Court
of the Arches, where was an Accusation exhibited
against me for wearing undecent and manly apparel.
I was advised by my Proctor to demur to the
Jurisdiction of the Court, as for a Crime, if
such, not cognizable there or elsewhere; but he
did it to spin out my Cause, and get my Mony; for
in the conclusion, I was sentenced there to stand
and do Penance in a White Sheet at Paul’s Cross,
during morning Sermon on a Sunday,” p. 69.

We are told that she robbed General Fairfax of 250
Jacobuses upon Hounslow Heath, shot him through
the arm, and killed two horses on which a couple
of his servants rode; and that being closely
pursued by some Parliamentarian officers quartered
at Hounslow, to whom Fairfax told the adventure,
and her horse failing her at Turnham Green, she
was apprehended and carried to Newgate, after
which she was condemned, but procured her pardon
by giving her adversary 2000 pounds![941] The
story seems to be not a little exaggerated.

Nor is the reader bound to believe the subjoined
anecdote; but, as Moll had a house of her own
“within 2 doors of the Globe Tavern in Fleet
Street, over against the Conduit,” _Life_, p. 47,
and appears to have acquired considerable property
by her various rogueries, the circumstance of her
supplying the wine is by no means improbable:
“After that unnatural and detestable Rebellion of
the Scots in 1638, upon his Majesties return home
to London, where preparation was made for his
Magnificent Entry, I was also resolved to show my
Loyal and Dutiful Respects to the King in as ample
manner as I could or might be permitted.... I was
resolved in my own account to beare a part in the
charge of this Solemnity; and therefore undertook
to supply Fleetstreet Conduit adjacent to my House
with Wine, to run continually for that triumphal
Day, which I performed with no less Expence then
Credit and delight, and the satisfaction of all
Comers and Spectators. And as the King passed by
me, I put out my Hand and caught Him by His, and
grasped it very hard, saying, _Welcome Home_
CHARLES! His Majesty smiled, and I beleeve took me
for some Mad Bold Beatrice or other, while the
people shouted and made a noyse, in part at my
Confidence and presumption, and in part for joy of
the King’s Return. The rest of that Day I spent in
jollity and carousing, and concluded the night
with Fireworks and Drink. This celebrated Action
of mine, it being the Town talk, made people look
upon me at another rate then formerly.” _Life_,
pp. 95-98.

A dropsy, from which she had long been suffering,
and which, it is said, would probably have carried
her off sooner if she had not indulged greatly in
the use of tobacco—(for she gloried in being the
first female smoker)—at last proved fatal to the
Roaring Girl. In the Memoir above cited, she is
represented as bidding adieu to the world “this
three score and fourteenth year of my age,” p.
169. A MS.[942] states that she died at her house
in Fleet Street, July 26, 1659; that she was
buried in the church of Saint Bridget’s; and that
she left twenty pounds by will, that the Conduit
might run with wine when King Charles the Second
should return. Granger says,[943] that her death
took place in her 75th year.

She is supposed to be the person alluded to in
Shakespeare’s _Twelfth Night_, where Sir Toby
exclaims, “Wherefore are these things hid?
wherefore have these gifts a curtain before them?
are they like to take dust, like _mistress Mall’s_
picture?” Act i. sc. 3.

On the books of the Stationers’ Company, August
1610, is entered “A Booke called the Madde Prancks
of Merry Mall of the Bankside, with her Walks in
Man’s Apparel, and to what Purpose. Written by
John Day.”[944]

In _Rubbe and A great Cast. Epigrams. By Thomas
Freeman, Gent._, 1614, 4to, is

“Epigram 90.
_Of Moll Cutpurse disguised going._

“They say Mol’s honest, and it may bee so,
But yet it is a shrewd presumption no:
To touch but pitch, ’tis knowne it will defile;
Moll weares the breech, what may she be the while?
Sure shee that doth the shadow so much grace,
What will shee when the substance comes in place?”

She figures in act ii. sc. 1 of Field’s _Amends
for Ladies_,[945] 1618, where she is thus
addressed:

——“Hence, lewd impudent!
I know not what to term thee, man or woman,
For Nature, shaming to acknowledge thee
For either, hath produc’d thee to the world
Without a sex: some say thou art a woman,
Others, a man; and many, thou art both
Woman and man; but I think rather, neither;
Or man and horse, as the old Centaurs were
feign’d.”

In _The Water-cormorant his Complaint against a
Brood of Land-cormorants_ (first printed, I
believe, in 1622), Taylor says,

“That if our Grand-fathers and Grand-dams should
Rise from the dead, and these mad times behold,
Amazed they halfe madly would admire
At our fantasticke gestures and attire;
And they would thinke that England in conclusion
Were a meere bable Babell of confusion;
That Muld-sack[946] for his most vnfashion’d
fashions
Is the fit patterne of their transformations;
And _Mary Frith_ doth teach them modesty,
For she doth keepe one fashion constantly,
And therefore she deserues a Matrons praise,
In these inconstant Moon-like changing dayes.”
p. 6.—_Works_, ed.
1630.

From _The Witch of Edmonton_ (by W. Rowley,
Dekker, and Ford, acted about 1623), we learn that
a certain dog, used in baiting bulls and bears,
was called _Moll Cutpurse_, after our heroine: act
v. sc. 1. Ford’s _Works_, by Gifford, vol. ii. p.
547.

She is thus mentioned in Brome’s _Court Beggar_,
acted 1632;

"CIT. Sprecious! How now! my fob has been fubd
to-day of six pieces, and a dozen shillings at
least.... My watch is gone out of my pocket too o’
th’ right side.... Ile go to honest _Moll_ about
it presently." Act ii. sc. 1. _Five New Playes_,
1653.

In the following couplet of Butler (the second
line of which Swift has transferred, with a slight
alteration, into his _Baucis and Philemon_), the
allusion is most probably to Moll Cutpurse, and
not, as Grey thinks, to Mary Carlton;

“A bold Virago, stout and tall,
As Joan of France, or _English Mall_.”
_Hudibras_, Part i. c. ii. 367.

With a quotation from a play called _The Feigned
Astrologer_, 1668, I conclude this notice of Mary
Frith;

“We cannot do that neither in quiet,
So many have found his lodging out:
And now, _Moll Cut-purse_, that oracle of felonie
Is dead, there’s not a pocket pickt,
But hee’s acquainted with it.” Act iv. sc. 2, p.
62.

Thomas Dekker, whose name is coupled with
Middleton’s on the title-page of _The Roaring
Girl_, was (as perhaps few readers require to be
told) a very prolific and popular dramatist: many
of his plays have perished.

TO THE COMIC PLAY-READERS, VENERY
AND LAUGHTER.

The fashion of play-making I can properly
compare to nothing so naturally as the alteration
in apparel; for in the time of the great
crop-doublet, your huge bombasted plays, quilted
with mighty words to lean purpose, were[947] only
then in fashion: and as the doublet fell, neater
inventions began to set up. Now, in the time of
spruceness, our plays follow the niceness of our
garments; single plots, quaint conceits, lecherous
jests, drest up in hanging sleeves: and those are
fit for the times and the termers.[948] Such a
kind of light-colour summer stuff, mingled with
divers colours, you shall find this published
comedy; good to keep you in an afternoon from dice
at home in your chambers: and for venery, you
shall find enough for sixpence,[949] but well
couched and[950] you mark it; for Venus, being a
woman, passes through the play in doublet and
breeches; a brave disguise and a safe one, if the
statute untie not her codpiece point. The book I
make no question but is fit for many of your
companies, as well as the person itself, and may
be allowed both gallery-room at the playhouse, and
chamber-room at your lodging. Worse things, I must
needs confess, the world has taxed her for than
has been written of her; but ’tis the excellency
of a writer to leave things better than he finds
’em; though some obscene fellow, that cares not
what he writes against others, yet keeps a
mystical bawdyhouse himself, and entertains
drunkards, to make use of their pockets and vent
his private bottle-ale at midnight,—though such a
one would have ript up the most nasty vice that
ever hell belched forth, and presented it to a
modest assembly, yet we rather wish in such
discoveries, where reputation lies bleeding, a
slackness of truth than fulness of slander.

THOMAS MIDDLETON.