Chapter XXVIII: Act IV: Scene I

_A Room in_ SIR ALEX. WENGRAVE’S _House_.

_Enter_ SIR ALEX. WENGRAVE.

S. ALEX. Unhappy in the follies of a son,
Led against judgment, sense, obedience,
And all the powers of nobleness and wit!

_Enter_ TRAPDOOR.

O wretched father!—Now, Trapdoor, will she come?
TRAP. In man’s apparel, sir; I’m in her heart now,
And share in all her secrets.
S. ALEX. Peace, peace, peace!
Here, take my German watch,[1069] hang’t up in sight,
That I may see her hang in English for’t.
TRAP. I warrant you for that now, next sessions rids
her, sir. This watch will bring her in better than a
hundred constables. [_Hangs up the watch._
S. ALEX. Good Trapdoor, sayst thou so? thou cheer’st my
heart
After a storm of sorrow. My gold chain too;
Here, take a hundred marks[1070] in yellow links.
TRAP. That will do well to bring the watch to light,
sir;
And worth a thousand of your headborough’s lanterns.
S. ALEX. Place that a’ the court-cupboard;[1071] let
it lie
Full in the view of her thief-whorish eye.
TRAP. She cannot miss it, sir; I see’t so plain,
That I could steal’t myself.
[_Places the chain._
S. ALEX. Perhaps thou shalt too,
That or something as weighty: what she leaves
Thou shalt come closely in and filch away,
And all the weight upon her back I’ll lay.
TRAP. You cannot assure that, sir.
S. ALEX. No? what lets[1072] it?
TRAP. Being a stout girl, perhaps she’ll desire
pressing;
Then all the weight must lie upon her belly.
S. ALEX. Belly or back I care not, so I’ve one.
TRAP. You’re of my mind for that, sir.
S. ALEX. Hang up my ruff-band with the diamond at it;
It may be she’ll like that best.
TRAP. It’s well for her, that she must have her choice;
he thinks nothing too good for her. [_Aside._]—If you
hold on this mind a little longer, it shall be the first
work I do to turn thief myself; [’t]would do a man good
to be hanged when he is so well provided for.
[_Hangs up the ruff-band._
S. ALEX. So, well said; all hangs well: would she hung
so too!
The sight would please me more than all their
glisterings.
O that my mysteries[1073] to such straits should run,
That I must rob myself to bless my son! [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ SEBASTIAN WENGRAVE, MARY FITZALLARD _disguised
as a Page, and_ MOLL _in her male dress_.

SEB. Thou’st done me a kind office, without touch
Either of sin or shame; our loves are honest.
MOLL. I’d scorn to make such shift to bring you together
else.
SEB. Now have I time and opportunity
Without all fear to bid thee welcome, love!
[_Kisses Mary._
MARY. Never with more desire and harder venture!
MOLL. How strange this shews, one man to kiss another!
SEB. I’d kiss such men to choose, Moll;
Methinks a woman’s lip tastes well in a doublet.
MOLL. Many an old madam has the better fortune then,
Whose breaths grew stale before the fashion came:
If that will help ’em, as you think ’twill do,
They’ll learn in time to pluck on the hose[1074] too.
SEB. The older they wax, Moll, troth I speak
seriously,
As some have a conceit their drink tastes better
In an outlandish cup than in our own,
So methinks every kiss she gives me now
In this strange form is worth a pair of two.
Here we are safe, and furthest from the eye
Of all suspicion; this is my father’s chamber,
Upon which floor he never steps till night:
Here he mistrusts me not, nor I his coming;
At mine own chamber he still pries unto me,
My freedom is not there at mine own finding,
Still check’d and curb’d; here he shall miss his
purpose.
MOLL. And what’s your business, now you have your
mind, sir?
At your great suit I promis’d you to come:
I pitied her for name’s sake, that a Moll
Should be so crost in love, when there’s so many
That owe[1075] nine lays[1076] a-piece, and not so
little.
My tailor fitted her; how like you his work?
SEB. So well, no art can mend it, for this purpose:
But to thy wit and help we’re chief in debt,
And must live still beholding.[1077]
MOLL. Any honest pity
I’m willing to bestow upon poor ring-doves.
SEB. I’ll offer no worse play.
MOLL. Nay, and[1078] you should, sir,
I should draw first, and prove the quicker man.
SEB. Hold, there shall need no weapon at this meeting;
But ’cause thou shalt not loose thy fury idle,
Here take this viol, run upon the guts,
And end thy quarrel singing.
[_Takes down, and gives her, a viol._
MOLL. Like a swan above bridge;[1079]
For look you here’s the bridge, and here am I.
SEB. Hold on, sweet Moll!
MARY. I’ve heard her much commended, sir, for one
That was ne’er taught.
MOLL. I’m much beholding to ’em.
Well, since you’ll needs put us together, sir,
I’ll play my part as well as I can: it shall ne’er
Be said I came into a gentleman’s chamber,
And let his instrument hang by the walls.
SEB. Why, well said, Moll, i’faith; it had been a shame
for that gentleman then that would have let it hung
still, and ne’er offered thee it.
MOLL. There it should have been still then for Moll;
For though the world judge impudently of me,
I never came into that chamber yet
Where I took down the instrument myself.
SEB. Pish, let ’em prate abroad; thou’rt here where thou
art known and loved; there be a thousand close dames
that will call the viol[1080] an unmannerly instrument
for a woman, and therefore talk broadly of thee, when
you shall have them sit wider to a worse quality.
MOLL. Push,[1081]
I ever fall asleep and think not of ’em, sir;
And thus I dream.
SEB. Prithee, let’s hear thy dream, Moll.
MOLL [_sings_].

_I dream there is a mistress,
And she lays out the money_;
_She goes unto her sisters,
She never comes at any._

_Re-enter_ SIR ALEXANDER _behind_.

_She says she went to th’ Burse[1082] for patterns;
You shall find her at Saint Kathern’s,
And comes home with never a penny._
SEB. That’s a free mistress, faith!
S. ALEX. Ay, ay, ay,
Like her that sings it; one of thine own choosing.
[_Aside._
MOLL. But shall I dream again?

[_Sings._] _Here comes a wench will brave ye;
Her courage was so great,
She lay with one o’ the navy,
Her husband lying i’ the Fleet.
Yet oft with him she cavell’d;[1083]
I wonder what she ails:
Her husband’s ship lay gravell’d,
When her’s could hoise up sails:
Yet she began, like all my foes,
To call whore first; for so do those—
A pox of all false tails!_
SEB. Marry, amen, say I!
S. ALEX. So say I too. [_Aside._
MOLL. Hang up the viol now, sir: all this while
I was in a dream; one shall lie rudely then;
But being awake, I keep my legs together.
A watch? what’s a’ clock here?
S. ALEX. Now, now she’s trapt! [_Aside._
MOLL. Between[1084] one and two; nay, then I care not. A
watch and a musician are cousin-germans in one thing,
they must both keep time well, or there’s no goodness in
’em; the one else deserves to be dashed against a wall,
and t’other to have his brains knocked out with a
fiddle-case.
What! a loose chain and a dangling diamond?
Here were a brave booty for an evening thief now:
There’s many a younger brother would be glad
To look twice in at a window for’t,
And wriggle in and out, like an eel in a sand-bag.
O, if men’s secret youthful faults should judge ’em,
’Twould be the general’st execution
That e’er was seen in England!
There would be but few left to sing the ballads,
There would be so much work: most of our brokers
Would be chosen for hangmen; a good day for them;
They might renew their wardrobes of free cost then.
SEB. This is the roaring wench must do us good.
MARY. No poison, sir, but serves us for some use;
Which is confirm’d in her.
SEB. Peace, peace—
’Foot, I did hear him sure, where’er he be.
MOLL. Who did you hear?
SEB. My father;
’Twas like a sigh[1085] of his: I must be wary.
S. ALEX. No? wilt not be? am I alone so wretched
That nothing takes? I’ll put him to his plunge[1086]
for’t.
[_Aside._
SEB. Life! here he comes.—Sir, I beseech you take it;
Your way of teaching does so much content me,
I’ll make it four pound; here’s forty shillings, sir—
I think I name it right—help me, good Moll—
Forty in hand. [_Offering money._
MOLL. Sir, you shall pardon me:
I’ve more of the meanest scholar I can teach;
This pays me more than you have offer’d yet.
SEB. At the next quarter,
When I receive the means my father ’lows me,
You shall have t’other forty.
S. ALEX. This were well now,
Were’t to a man whose sorrows had blind eyes;
But mine behold his follies and untruths
With two clear glasses. [_Aside—then coming forward._]
How now?
SEB. Sir?
S. ALEX. What’s he there?
SEB. You’re come in good time, sir; I’ve a suit to
you;
I’d crave your present kindness.
S. ALEX. What’s he there?
SEB. A gentleman, a musician, sir; one of excellent
fingering.
S. ALEX. Ay, I think so;—I wonder how they ’scap’d her.
[_Aside._
SEB. Has the most delicate stroke, sir.
S. ALEX. A stroke indeed!—I feel it at my heart.
[_Aside._
SEB. Puts down all your famous musicians.
S. ALEX. Ay,—a whore may put down a hundred of ’em.
[_Aside._
SEB. Forty shillings is the agreement, sir, between
us:
Now, sir, my present means mounts but to half on’t.
S. ALEX. And he stands upon the whole?
SEB. Ay, indeed does he, sir.
S. ALEX. And will do still; he’ll ne’er be in other
tale.
SEB. Therefore I’d stop his mouth, sir, and[1087] I
could.
S. ALEX. Hum, true; there is no other way indeed;—
His folly hardens, shame must needs succeed.—
[_Aside._
Now, sir, I understand you profess music.
MOLL. I’m a poor servant to that liberal science, sir.
S. ALEX. Where is’t you teach?
MOLL. Right against Clifford’s Inn.
S. ALEX. Hum, that’s a fit place for’t: you’ve many
scholars?
MOLL. And some of worth, whom I may call my masters.
S. ALEX. Ay, true, a company of whoremasters.
[_Aside._
You teach to sing too?
MOLL. Marry, do I, sir.
S. ALEX. I think you’ll find an apt scholar of my son,
Especially for prick-song.
MOLL. I’ve much hope of him.
S. ALEX. I’m sorry for’t, I have the less for that.
[_Aside._
You can play any lesson?
MOLL. At first sight, sir.
S. ALEX. There’s a thing call’d the Witch; can you
play that?
MOLL. I would be sorry any one should mend me in’t.
S. ALEX. Ay, I believe thee; thou’st so bewitch’d my
son,
No care will mend the work that thou hast done.
I have bethought myself, since my art fails,
I’ll make her policy the art to trap her.
Here are four angels[1088] mark’d with holes in them
Fit for his crack’d companions: gold he’ll give her;
These will I make induction to her ruin,
And rid shame from my house, grief from my heart.
[_Aside._
Here, son, in what you take content and pleasure,
Want shall not curb you; pay the gentleman
His latter half in gold. [_Gives money._
SEB. I thank you, sir.
S. ALEX. O may the operation on’t end three;
In her, life, shame in him, and grief in me!
[_Aside, and exit._
SEB. Faith, thou shalt have ’em; ’tis my father’s
gift:
Never was man beguil’d with better shift.
MOLL. He that can take me for a male musician,
I can’t choose but make him my instrument,
And play upon him. [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_Before_ GALLIPOT’S _Shop_.

_Enter_ MISTRESS GALLIPOT _and_ MISTRESS OPENWORK.

MIS. G. Is, then, that bird of yours, master Goshawk,
so wild?
MIS. O. A Goshawk? a puttock;[1089] all for prey: he
angles for fish, but he loves flesh better.
MIS. G. Is’t possible his smooth face should have
wrinkles in’t, and we not see them?
MIS. O. Possible? why, have not many handsome legs in
silk stockings villanous splay feet, for all their great
roses?[1090]
MIS. G. Troth, sirrah,[1091] thou sayst true.
MIS. O. Didst never see an archer, as thou’st walked by
Bunhill, look a-squint when he drew his bow?
MIS. G. Yes, when his arrows have fline[1092] toward
Islington, his eyes have shot clean contrary towards
Pimlico.
MIS. O. For all the world so does master Goshawk double
with me.
MIS. G. O, fie upon him! if he double once, he’s not for
me.
MIS. O. Because Goshawk goes in a shag-ruff band, with a
face sticking up in’t which shews like an agate set in a
cramp ring,[1093] he thinks I’m in love with him.
MIS. G. ’Las, I think he takes his mark amiss in thee!
MIS. O. He has, by often beating into me, made me
believe that my husband kept a whore.
MIS. G. Very good.
MIS. O. Swore to me that my husband this very morning
went in a boat, with a tilt over it, to the Three
Pigeons[1094] at Brainford, and his punk with him under
his tilt.
MIS. G. That were wholesome.
MIS. O. I believed it; fell a-swearing at him, cursing
of harlots; made me ready to hoise up sail and be there
as soon as he.
MIS. G. So, so.
MIS. O. And for that voyage Goshawk comes hither
incontinently:[1095] but, sirrah, this water-spaniel
dives after no duck but me; his hope is having me at
Brainford, to make me cry quack.
MIS. G. Art sure of it?
MIS. O. Sure of it? my poor innocent Openwork came in as
I was poking my ruff:[1096] presently hit I him i’ the
teeth with the Three Pigeons; he forswore all, I up and
opened all; and now stands he in a shop hard by, like a
musket on a rest,[1097] to hit Goshawk i’ the eye, when
he comes to fetch me to the boat.
MIS. G. Such another lame gelding offered to carry me
through thick and thin,—Laxton, sirrah,—but I am rid of
him now.
MIS. O. Happy is the woman can be rid of ’em all! ’las,
what are your whisking gallants to our husbands, weigh
’em rightly, man for man?
MIS. G. Troth, mere shallow things.
MIS. O. Idle, simple things, running heads; and yet let
’em run over us never so fast, we shopkeepers, when
all’s done, are sure to have ’em in our pursenets[1098]
at length; and when they are in, lord, what simple
animals they are! then they hang the head——
MIS. G. Then they droop——
MIS. O. Then they write letters——
MIS. G. Then they cog[1099]——
MIS. O. Then deal they underhand with us, and we must
ingle[1100] with our husbands a-bed; and we must swear
they are our cousins, and able to do us a pleasure at
court.
MIS. G. And yet, when we have done our best, all’s but
put into a riven dish;[1101] we are but frumped[1102] at
and libelled upon.
MIS. O. O, if it were the good Lord’s will there were a
law made, no citizen should trust any of ’em all!

_Enter_ GOSHAWK.

MIS. G. Hush, sirrah! Goshawk flutters.
GOS. How now? are you ready?
MIS. O. Nay, are you ready? a little thing, you see,
makes us ready.
GOS. Us? why, must she make one i’ the voyage?
MIS. O. O, by any means! do I know how my husband will
handle me?
GOS. ’Foot, how shall I find water to keep these two
mills going? [_Aside._]—Well, since you’ll needs be
clapped under hatches, if I sail not with you both till
all split,[1103] hang me up at the mainyard and duck
me.—It’s but liquoring them both soundly, and then you
shall see their cork-heels fly up high, like two swans
when their tails are above water, and their long necks
under water diving to catch gudgeons. [_Aside._]—Come,
come, oars stand ready; the tide’s with us; on with
those false faces; blow winds, and thou shalt take thy
husband casting out his net to catch fresh salmon at
Brainford.[1104]
MIS. G. I believe you’ll eat of a cod’s head of your own
dressing before you reach half way thither.
[_Aside_—_She and_ MISTRESS O. _mask themselves_.
GOS. So, so, follow close; pin as you go.

_Enter_ LAXTON _muffled_.
LAX. Do you hear?
MIS. G. Yes, I thank my ears.
LAX. I must have a bout with your ’pothecaryship.
MIS. G. At what weapon?
LAX. I must speak with you.
MIS. G. No.
LAX. No? you shall.
MIS. G. Shall? away, souced sturgeon! half fish, half
flesh.
LAX. Faith, gib,[1105] are you spitting? I’ll cut your
tail, puss-cat, for this.
MIS. G. ’Las, poor Laxton, I think thy tail’s cut
already! your worst.
LAX. If I do not—— [_Exit._
GOS. Come, ha’ you done?

_Enter_ OPENWORK.

’S foot, Rosamond, your husband!
OPEN. How now? sweet master Goshawk! none more
welcome;
I’ve wanted your embracements: when friends meet,
The music of the spheres sounds not more sweet
Than does their conference. Who’s this? Rosamond?
Wife? how now, sister?
GOS. Silence, if you love me!
OPEN. Why mask’d?
MIS. O. Does a mask grieve you, sir?
OPEN. It does.
MIS. O. Then you’re best get you a mumming.[1106]
GOS. ’Sfoot, you’ll spoil all!
MIS. G. May not we cover our bare faces with masks,
As well as you cover your bald heads with hats?
OPEN. No masks; why they’re thieves to beauty, that
rob eyes
Of admiration in which true love lies.
Why are masks worn? why good? or why desir’d?
Unless by their gay covers wits are fir’d
To read the vildest[1107] looks: many bad faces,
Because rich gems are treasur’d up in cases,
Pass by their privilege current; but as caves
Damn misers’ gold, so masks are beauties’ graves.
Men ne’er meet women with such muffled eyes,
But they curse her that first did masks devise,
And swear it was some beldam. Come, off with’t.
MIS. O. I will not.
OPEN. Good faces mask’d are jewels kept by
sprites;[1108]
Hide none but bad ones, for they poison men’s sights;
Shew, then, as shopkeepers do their broider’d stuff,
By owl-light; fine wares can’t be open enough.
Prithee, sweet Rose, come, strike this sail.
MIS. O. Sail?
OPEN. Ha!
Yes, wife, strike sail, for storms are in thine eyes.
MIS. O. They’re here, sir, in my brows, if any rise.
OPEN. Ha, brows?—What says she, friend? pray, tell me
why
Your two flags[1109] were advanc’d; the comedy,
Come, what’s the comedy?
MIS. G.[1110] _Westward ho._[1111]
OPEN. How?
MIS. O. ’Tis _Westward ho_, she says.
GOS. Are you both mad?
MIS. O. Is’t market-day at Brainford, and your ware
Not sent up yet?
OPEN. What market-day? what ware?
MIS. O. A pie with three pigeons in’t: ’tis drawn,
And stays your cutting up.
GOS. As you regard my credit——
OPEN. Art mad?
MIS. O. Yes, lecherous goat, baboon!
OPEN. Baboon? then toss me in a blanket.
MIS. O. Do I it well?
MIS. G. Rarely.
GOS. Belike, sir, she’s not well; best leave her.
OPEN. No;
I’ll stand the storm now, how fierce soe’er it blow.
MIS. O. Did I for this lose all my friends, refuse
Rich hopes and golden fortunes, to be made
A stale[1112] to a common whore?
OPEN. This does amaze me.
MIS. O. O God, O God! feed at reversion now?
A strumpet’s leaving?
OPEN. Rosamond!
GOS. I sweat; would I lay in Cold Harbour![1113]
[_Aside._
MIS. O. Thou’st struck ten thousand daggers through my
heart!
OPEN. Not I, by heaven, sweet wife!
MIS. O. Go, devil, go; that which thou swear’st by
damns thee!
GOS. ’S heart, will you undo me?
MIS. O. Why stay you here? the star by which you sail
Shines yonder above Chelsea; you lose your shore;
If this moon light you, seek out your light whore.
OPEN. Ha!
MIS. G. Push,[1114] your western pug![1115]
GOS. Zounds, now hell roars!
MIS. O. With whom you tilted in a pair of oars
This very morning.
OPEN. Oars?
MIS. O. At Brainford, sir.
OPEN. Rack not my patience.—Master Goshawk,
Some slave has buzz’d this into her, has he not?
I run a tilt in Brainford with a woman?
’Tis a lie!
What old bawd tells thee this? ’s death, ’tis a lie!
MIS. O. ’Tis one [who] to thy face shall justify
All that I speak.
OPEN. Ud’soul, do but name that rascal!
MIS. O. No, sir, I will not.
GOS. Keep thee there, girl, then! [_Aside._
OPEN.[1116] Sister, know you this varlet?
MIS. G. Yes.
OPEN. Swear true;
Is there a rogue so low damn’d? a second Judas?—
A common hangman, cutting a man’s throat,
Does it to his face,—bite me behind my back?
A cur dog? swear if you know this hell-hound.
MIS. G. In truth, I do.
OPEN. His name?
MIS. G. Not for the world;
To have you to stab him.
GOS. O brave girls, worth gold![1117] [_Aside._
OPEN. A word, honest master Goshawk.
[_Drawing his sword._
GOS. What do you mean, sir?
OPEN. Keep off, and if the devil can give a name
To this new fury, holla it through my ear,
Or wrap it up in some hid character.
I’ll ride to Oxford, and watch out mine eyes,
But I will hear the Brazen Head[1118] speak, or else
Shew me but one hair of his head or beard,
That I may sample it. If the fiend I meet
In mine own house, I’ll kill him; [in] the street,
Or at the church-door,—there, ’cause he seeks t’ untie
The knot God fastens, he deserves most to die.
MIS. O. My husband titles him!
OPEN. Master Goshawk, pray, sir,
Swear to me that you know him, or know him not,
Who makes me at Brainford to take up a petticoat
Besides my wife’s.
GOS. By heaven, that man I know not!
MIS. O. Come, come, you lie!
GOS. Will you not have all out?
By heaven, I know no man beneath the moon
Should do you wrong, but if I had his name,
I’d print it in text letters.
MIS. O. Print thine own then:
Did’st not thou swear to me he kept his whore?
MIS. G. And that in sinful Brainford they’d commit
That which our lips did water at, sir,—ha?
MIS. O. Thou spider that hast woven thy cunning web
In mine own house t’ ensnare me! hast not thou
Suck’d nourishment even underneath this roof,
And turn’d it all to poison, spitting it
On thy friend’s face, my husband, (he as ’twere
sleeping,)
Only to leave him ugly to mine eyes,
That they might glance on thee?
MIS. G. Speak, are these lies?
GOS. Mine own shame me confounds!
OPEN.[1119] No more; he’s stung.
Who’d think that in one body there could dwell
Deformity and beauty, heaven and hell?
Goodness I see is but outside; we all set
In rings of gold stones that be counterfeit:
I thought you none.
GOS. Pardon me!
OPEN. Truth I do:
This blemish grows in nature, not in you;
For man’s creation stick[s] even moles in scorn
On fairest cheeks.—Wife, nothing’s perfect born.
MIS. O. I thought you had been born perfect.
OPEN. What’s this whole world but a gilt rotten pill?
For at the heart lies the old core still.
I’ll tell you, master Goshawk, ay, in your eye
I have seen wanton fire; and then, to try
The soundness of my judgment, I told you
I kept a whore, made you believe ’twas true,
Only to feel how your pulse beat; but find
The world can hardly yield a perfect friend.
Come, come, a trick of youth, and ’tis forgiven;
This rub put by, our love shall run more even.
MIS. O. You’ll deal upon men’s wives no more?
GOS. No; you teach me
A trick for that.
MIS. O. Troth, do not; they’ll o’erreach thee.
OPEN. Make my house yours, sir, still.
GOS. No.
OPEN. I say you shall:
Seeing thus besieg’d it holds out, ’twill never fall.

_Enter_ GALLIPOT, _followed by_ GREENWIT _disguised as a
sumner;[1120] and_ LAXTON _muffled aloof off_.[1121]

OPEN. } How now?
GOS., _&c._[1122] }
GAL. With me, sir?
GREEN. You, sir. I have gone snuffling[1123] up and down
by your door this hour, to watch for you.
MIS. G. What’s the matter, husband?
GREEN. I have caught a cold in my head, sir, by sitting
up late in the Rose tavern; but I hope you understand my
speech.
GAL. So, sir.
GREEN. I cite you by the name of Hippocrates Gallipot,
and you by the name of Prudence Gallipot, to appear upon
_Crastino_,—do you see?—_Crastino sancti Dunstani_, this
Easter term, in Bow Church.
GAL. Where, sir? what says he?
GREEN. Bow, Bow Church, to answer to a libel of
precontract on the part and behalf of the said Prudence
and another: you’re best, sir, take a copy of the
citation, ’tis but twelvepence.
OPEN. } A citation!
GOS., _&c._ }
GAL. You pocky-nosed rascal, what slave fees you to
this?
LAX. [_coming forward_] Slave? I ha’ nothing to do with
you; do you hear, sir?
GOS. Laxton, is’t not? What fagary[1124] is this?
GAL. Trust me, I thought, sir, this storm long ago
Had been full laid, when, if you be remember’d,[1125]
I paid you the last fifteen pound, besides
The thirty you had first; for then you swore——
LAX. Tush, tush, sir, oaths,—
Truth, yet I’m loath to vex you—tell you what,
Make up the money I had an hundred pound,
And take your bellyful of her.
GAL. An hundred pound?
MIS. G. What, a hundred pound? he gets none: what, a
hundred pound?
GAL. Sweet Pru, be calm; the gentleman offers thus:
If I will make the moneys that are past
A hundred pound, he will discharge all courts,
And give his bond never to vex us more.
MIS. G. A hundred pound? ’Las, take, sir, but
threescore!
Do you seek my undoing?
LAX. I’ll not ’bate one sixpence.—
I’ll maul you, puss, for spitting.
MIS. G. Do thy worst.—
Will fourscore stop thy mouth?
LAX. No.
MIS. G. You’re a slave;
Thou cheat, I’ll now tear money from thy throat.—
Husband, lay hold on yonder tawny-coat.[1126]
GREEN. Nay, gentlemen, seeing your women are so hot, I
must lose my hair[1127] in their company, I see.
[_Takes off his false hair._
MIS. O. His hair sheds off, and yet he speaks not so
much in the nose as he did before.
GOS. He has had the better chirurgeon.—Master Greenwit,
is your wit so raw as to play no better a part than a
sumner’s?
GAL. I pray, who plays _A knack to know an honest
man_,[1128] in this company?
MIS. G. Dear husband, pardon me, I did dissemble,
Told thee I was his precontracted wife,
When letters came from him for thirty pound:
I had no shift but that.
GAL. A very clean shift,
But able to make me lousy: on.
MIS. G. Husband, I pluck’d,
When he had tempted me to think well of him,
Gelt feathers[1129] from thy wings, to make him fly
More lofty.
GAL. A’ the top of you, wife: on.
MIS. G. He having wasted them, comes now for more,
Using me as a ruffian doth his whore,
Whose sin keeps him in breath. By heaven, I vow,
Thy bed he ne’er wrong’d more than he does now!
GAL. My bed? ha, ha! like enough; a shop-board will
serve
To have a cuckold’s coat cut out upon:
Of that we’ll talk hereafter.—You’re a villain.
LAX. Hear me but speak, sir, you shall find me none.
OPEN. } Pray, sir, be patient, and hear him.
GOS., _&c._ }
GAL. I’m muzzl’d for biting, sir; use me how you will.
LAX. The first hour that your wife was in my eye,
Myself with other gentlemen sitting by
In your shop tasting smoke, and speech being us’d,
That men who’ve fairest wives are most abus’d,
And hardly scape[1130] the horn, your wife maintain’d
That only such spots in city dames were stain’d
Justly but by men’s slanders: for her own part,
She vow’d that you had so much of her heart,
No man, by all his wit, by any wile
Never so fine-spun, should yourself beguile
Of what in her was yours.
GAL. Yet, Pru, ’tis well.—
Play out your game at Irish,[1131] sir: who wins?
MIS. O. The trial is when she comes to bearing.[1132]
LAX. I scorn’d one woman thus should brave all men,
And, which more vex’d me, a she-citizen;
Therefore I laid siege to her: out she held,
Gave many a brave repulse, and me compell’d
With shame to sound retreat to my hot lust:
Then, seeing all base desires rak’d up in dust,
And that[1133] to tempt her modest ears, I swore
Ne’er to presume again: she said, her eye
Would ever give me welcome honestly;
And, since I was a gentleman, if’t run low,
She would my state relieve, not to o’erthrow
Your own and hers: did so; then seeing I wrought
Upon her meekness, me she set at nought;
And yet to try if I could turn that tide,
You see what stream I strove with; but, sir, I swear
By heaven, and by those hopes men lay up there,
I neither have nor had a base intent
To wrong your bed! what’s done, is merriment:
Your gold I pay back with this interest,
When I’d most power to do’t, I wrong’d you least.
GAL. If this no gullery be, sir——
OPEN. } No, no, on my life!
GOS., _&c._ }
GAL. Then, sir, I am beholden—not to you, wife,—
But, master Laxton, to your want of doing
Ill, which it seems you have not.—Gentlemen,
Tarry and dine here all.
OPEN. Brother, we’ve a jest,
As good as yours, to furnish out a feast.
Gal. We’ll crown our table with’t.—Wife, brag no more
Of holding out: who most brags is most whore.
[_Exeunt._