Chapter XXIX: Act V: Scene I

_A Street._

_Enter_ JACK DAPPER, MOLL, SIR BEAUTEOUS GANYMEDE, _and_
SIR THOMAS LONG.

J. DAP. But, prithee, master captain Jack, be plain and
perspicuous with me; was it your Meg of Westminster’s
courage[1134] that rescued me from the Poultry
puttocks[1135] indeed?
MOLL. The valour of my wit, I ensure you, sir, fetched
you off bravely, when you were i’ the forlorn hope among
those desperates. Sir Beauteous Ganymede here, and sir
Thomas Long, heard that cuckoo, my man Trapdoor, sing
the note of your ransom from captivity.
S. BEAU. Uds so, Moll, where’s that Trapdoor?
MOLL. Hanged, I think, by this time: a justice in
this town, that speaks nothing but _make a mittimus,
away with him to Newgate_, used that rogue like a
firework,[1136] to run upon a line betwixt him and
me.
ALL. How, how?
MOLL. Marry, to lay trains of villany to blow up my
life: I smelt the powder, spied what linstock[1137]
gave fire to shoot against the poor captain of the
galley-foist,[1138] and away slid I my man like a
shovel-board shilling.[1139] He strouts[1140] up and
down the suburbs, I think, and eats up whores, feeds
upon a bawd’s garbage.
S. THO. Sirrah, Jack Dapper——
J. DAP. What sayst, Tom Long?
S. THO. Thou hadst a sweet-faced boy, hail-fellow with
thee, to your little Gull: how is he spent?
J. DAP. Troth, I whistled the poor little buzzard off a’
my fist, because, when he waited upon me at the
ordinaries, the gallants hit me i’ the teeth still, and
said I looked like a painted alderman’s tomb, and the
boy at my elbow like a death’s head.—Sirrah Jack, Moll——
MOLL. What says my little Dapper?
S. BEAU. Come, come; walk and talk, walk and talk.
J. DAP. Moll and I’ll be i’ the midst.
MOLL. These knights shall have squires’ places belike
then: well, Dapper, what say you?
J. DAP. Sirrah captain, mad Mary, the gull my own
father, Dapper Sir Davy, laid these London
boot-halers,[1141] the catchpolls, in ambush to set upon
me.
ALL. Your father? away, Jack!
J. DAP. By the tassels of this handkercher, ’tis true:
and what was his warlike stratagem, think you? he
thought, because a wicker cage tames a nightingale, a
lousy prison could make an ass of me.
ALL. A nasty plot!
J. DAP. Ay, as though a Counter, which is a park in
which all the wild beasts of the city run head by head,
could tame me!
MOLL. Yonder comes my lord Noland.

_Enter_ LORD NOLAND.

ALL. Save you, my lord.
L. NOL. Well met, gentlemen all.—Good sir Beauteous
Ganymede, sir Thomas Long,—and how does master Dapper?
J. DAP. Thanks, my lord.
MOLL. No tobacco, my lord?
L. NOL. No, faith, Jack.
J. DAP. My lord Noland, will you go to Pimlico with us?
we are making a boon voyage to that nappy land of
spice-cakes.
L. NOL. Here’s such a merry ging,[1142] I could find in
my heart to sail to the world’s end with such company:
come, gentlemen, let’s on.
J. DAP. Here’s most amorous weather, my lord.
ALL. Amorous weather! [_They walk._
J. DAP. Is not amorous a good word?

_Enter_ TRAPDOOR _disguised as a poor soldier with a
patch over one eye, and_ TEARCAT _all in tatters_.

TRAP. Shall we set upon the infantry, these troops of
foot? Zounds, yonder comes Moll, my whorish master and
mistress! would I had her kidneys between my teeth!
TEAR. I had rather have a cow-heel.
TRAP. Zounds, I am so patched up, she cannot discover
me: we’ll on.
TEAR. _Alla corago_[1143] then!
TRAP. Good your honours and worships, enlarge the ears
of commiseration, and let the sound of a hoarse military
organ-pipe penetrate your pitiful bowels, to extract out
of them so many small drops of silver as may give a hard
straw-bed lodging to a couple of maimed soldiers.
J. DAP. Where are you maimed?
TEAR. In both our nether limbs.
MOLL. Come, come, Dapper, let’s give ’em something:
’las, poor men! what money have you? by my troth, I love
a soldier with my soul.
S. BEAU. Stay, stay; where have you served?
S. THO. In any part of the Low Countries?
TRAP. Not in the Low Countries, if it please your
manhood, but in Hungary against the Turk at the siege of
Belgrade.
L. NOL. Who served there with you, sirrah?
TRAP. Many Hungarians, Moldavians, Vallachians, and
Transylvanians, with some Sclavonians; and retiring
home, sir, the Venetian galleys took us prisoners, yet
freed us, and suffered us to beg up and down the
country.
J. DAP. You have ambled all over Italy, then?
TRAP. O sir, from Venice to Roma, Vecchia,
Bononia,[1144] Romagna, Bologna, Modena, Piacenza,
and Tuscana, with all her cities, as Pistoia,
Volterra,[1145] Montepulciano, Arezzo; with the
Siennois, and divers others.
MOLL. Mere rogues! put spurs to ’em once more.
J. DAP. Thou lookest like a strange creature, a fat
butter-box, yet speakest English: what art thou?
TEAR. _Ich, mine here? ich bin den ruffling Tearcat, den
brave soldado; ich bin dorich all Dutchlant gereisen;
der schellum das meer ine beasa ine woert gaeb, ich
slaag um stroakes on tom cop; dastich den hundred touzun
divel halle, frollich, mine here._
S. BEAU. Here, here; let’s be rid of their
jobbering.[1146]
[_About to give money._
MOLL. Not a cross,[1147] sir Beauteous.—You base rogues,
I have taken measure of you better than a tailor can;
and I’ll fit you, as you, monster with one eye, have
fitted me.
TRAP. Your worship will not abuse a soldier?
MOLL. Soldier? thou deservest to be hanged up by that
tongue which dishonours so noble a profession: soldier?
you skeldering[1148] varlet! hold, stand; there should
be a trapdoor here abouts.
[_Pulls off his patch._
TRAP. The balls of these glasiers[1149] of mine, mine
eyes, shall be shot up and down in any hot piece of
service for my invincible mistress.
J. DAP. I did not think there had been such knavery in
black patches[1150] as now I see.
MOLL. O sir, he hath been brought up in the Isle of
Dogs,[1151] and can both fawn like a spaniel, and bite
like a mastiff, as he finds occasion.
L. NOL. What are you, sirrah? a bird of this feather
too?
TEAR. A man beaten from the wars, sir.
S. THO. I think so, for you never stood to fight.
J. DAP. What’s thy name, fellow soldier?
TEAR. I am called by those that have seen my valour,
Tearcat.
ALL. Tearcat?
MOLL. A mere whip-jack,[1152] and that is, in the
commonwealth of rogues, a slave that can talk of
sea-fight, name all your chief pirates, discover more
countries to you than either the Dutch, Spanish, French,
or English ever found out; yet indeed all his service is
by land, and that is to rob a fair, or some such
venturous exploit. Tearcat? ’foot, sirrah, I have your
name, now I remember me, in my book of horners; horns
for the thumb,[1153] you know how.
TEAR. No indeed, captain Moll, for I know you by sight,
I am no such nipping Christian,[1154] but a maunderer
upon the pad,[1155] I confess; and meeting with honest
Trapdoor here, whom you had cashiered from bearing arms,
out at elbows, under your colours, I instructed him in
the rudiments of roguery, and by my map made him sail
over any country you can name, so that now he can
maunder better than myself.
J. DAP. So, then, Trapdoor, thou art turned soldier now?
TRAP. Alas, sir, now there’s no wars, ’tis the safest
course of life I could take!
MOLL. I hope, then, you can cant, for by your cudgels,
you, sirrah, are an upright man.[1156]
TRAP. As any walks the highway, I assure you.
MOLL. And, Tearcat, what are you? a wild rogue,[1157] an
angler,[1158] or a ruffler?[1159]
TEAR. Brother to this upright man, flesh and blood;
ruffling Tearcat is my name, and a ruffler is my style,
my title, my profession.
MOLL. Sirrah, where’s your doxy? halt not with me.
ALL. Doxy, Moll? what’s that?
MOLL. His wench.
TRAP. My doxy? I have, by the salomon,[1160] a doxy
that carries a kinchin mort in her slate[1161] at her
back, besides my dell and my dainty wild dell,[1162]
with all whom I’ll tumble this next darkmans in the
strommel,[1163] and drink ben baufe, and eat a fat
gruntling cheat, a cackling cheat, and a quacking
cheat.
J. DAP. Here’s old[1164] cheating!
TRAP. My doxy stays for me in a bousing ken,[1165] brave
captain.
MOLL. He says his wench stays for him in an ale-house.—
You are no pure rogues![1166]
TEAR. Pure rogues? no, we scorn to be pure rogues; but
if you come to our lib ken or our stalling ken,[1167]
you shall find neither him nor me a queer cuffin.[1168]
MOLL. So, sir, no churl of you.
TEAR. No, but a ben cove, a brave cove, a gentry cuffin.
L. NOL. Call you this canting?
J. DAP. Zounds, I’ll give a school-master half-a-crown
a-week, and teach me this pedlar’s French.[1169]
TRAP. Do but stroll, sir, half a harvest with us, sir,
and you shall gabble your bellyful.
MOLL. Come, you rogue, cant with me.
S. THO. Well said, Moll.—Cant with her, sirrah, and you
shall have money, else not a penny.
TRAP. I’ll have a bout, if she please.
MOLL. Come on, sirrah!
TRAP. Ben mort,[1170] shall you and I heave a bough,
mill a ken, or nip a bung, and then we’ll couch a
hogshead under the ruffmans, and there you shall wap
with me, and I’ll niggle with you.
MOLL. Out, you damned impudent rascal!
TRAP. Cut benar[1171] whids, and hold your fambles and
your stamps.
L. NOL. Nay, nay, Moll, why art thou angry? what was his
gibberish?
MOLL. Marry, this, my lord, says he: _Ben mort_, good
wench, _shall you and I heave a bough,[1172] mill a ken,
or nip a bung_? shall you and I rob a house, or cut a
purse?
ALL. Very good.
MOLL. _And then we’ll couch a hogshead under the
ruffmans_; and then we’ll lie under a hedge.
TRAP. That was my desire, captain, as ’tis fit a soldier
should lie.
MOLL. _And there you shall wap with me, and I’ll niggle
with you_,—and that’s all.
S. BEAU. Nay, nay, Moll, what’s that wap?
J. DAP. Nay, teach me what niggling is; I’d fain be
niggling.
MOLL. Wapping and niggling is all one, the rogue my man
can tell you.
TRAP. ’Tis fadoodling, if it please you.
S. BEAU. This is excellent! One fit more, good Moll.
MOLL. Come, you rogue, sing with me.

_Song by_ MOLL _and_ TEARCAT.[1173]

_A gage[1174] of ben rom-bouse
In a bousing ken of Rom-vile,
Is benar than a caster,
Peck, pennam, lay, or popler,
Which we mill in deuse a vile.
O I wud lib all the lightmans,
O I wud lib all the darkmans,
By the salomon, under the ruffmans,
By the salomon, in the hartmans,
And scour the queer cramp ring,
And couch till a palliard dock’d my dell,
So my bousy nab might skew rom-bouse well.
Avast to the pad, let us bing;
Avast to the pad, let us bing._
ALL. Fine knaves, i’faith!
J. DAP. The grating of ten new cart-wheels, and the
gruntling of five hundred hogs coming from Rumford
market, cannot make a worse noise than this canting
language does in my ears. Pray, my lord Noland, let’s
give these soldiers their pay.
S. BEAU. Agreed, and let them march.
L. NOL. Here, Moll. [_Gives money._
MOLL. Now I see that you are stalled to the rogue,[1175]
and are not ashamed of your professions: look you, my
lord Noland here and these gentlemen bestow[1176] upon
you two two boards[1177] and a half, that’s two
shillings sixpence.
TRAP. Thanks to your lordship.
TEAR. Thanks, heroical captain.
MOLL. Away!
TRAP. We shall cut ben whids[1178] of your masters and
mistress-ship wheresoever we come.
MOLL. You’ll maintain, sirrah, the old justice’s plot to
his face?
TRAP. Else trine me on the cheats,[1179]—hang me.
MOLL. Be sure you meet me there.
TRAP. Without any more maundering,[1180] I’ll do’t.—
Follow, brave Tearcat.
TEAR. _I præ, sequor_; let us go, mouse.[1181]
[_Exeunt_ TRAPDOOR _and_ TEARCAT.
L. NOL. Moll, what was in that canting song?
MOLL. Troth, my lord, only a praise of good drink, the
only milk which these wild beasts love to suck, and thus
it was:

_A rich cup of wine,
O it is juice divine!
More wholesome for the head
Than meat, drink, or bread:
To fill my drunken pate
With that, I’d sit up late;
By the heels would I lie,
Under a lowsy hedge die,
Let a slave have a pull
At my whore, so I be full
Of that precious liquor_:

and a parcel of such stuff, my lord, not worth the
opening.

_Enter a Cutpurse very gallant,[1182] with four or five
others, one having a wand._

L. NOL. What gallant comes yonder?
S. THO. Mass, I think I know him; ’tis one of
Cumberland.
FIRST CUT. Shall we venture to shuffle in amongst yon
heap of gallants, and strike?[1183]
SEC. CUT. ’Tis a question whether there be any silver
shells[1184] amongst them, for all their satin outsides.
THE REST. Let’s try.
MOLL. Pox on him, a gallant? Shadow me, I know him; ’tis
one that cumbers the land indeed: if he swim near to the
shore of any of your pockets, look to your purses.
L. NOL. } Is’t possible?
S. BEAU., _&c._[1185] }
MOLL. This brave[1182] fellow is no better than a foist.
L. NOL. } Foist! what’s that?
S. BEAU., _&c._ }
MOLL. A diver with two fingers, a pick-pocket; all his
train study the figging-law,[1186] that’s to say,
cutting of purses and foisting. One of them is a nip; I
took him once i’ the two-penny gallery[1187] at the
Fortune: then there’s a cloyer, or snap, that dogs any
new brother in that trade, and snaps will have half in
any booty. He with the wand is both a stale, whose
office is to face a man i’ the streets, whilst shells
are drawn by another, and then with his black conjuring
rod in his hand, he, by the nimbleness of his eye and
juggling stick, will, in cheaping a piece of plate at a
goldsmith’s stall, make four or five rings mount from
the top of his _caduceus_, and, as if it were at
leap-frog, they skip into his hand presently.
SEC. CUT. Zounds, we are smoked!
THE REST.[1188] Ha!
SEC. CUT. We are boiled,[1189] pox on her! see, Moll,
the roaring drab!
FIRST CUT. All the diseases of sixteen hospitals boil
her!—Away!
MOLL. Bless you, sir.
FIRST CUT. And you, good sir.
MOLL. Dost not ken me, man?
FIRST CUT. No, trust me, sir.
MOLL. Heart, there’s a knight, to whom I’m bound for
many favours, lost his purse at the last new play i’ the
Swan,[1190] seven angels[1191] in’t: make it good,
you’re best; do you see? no more.
FIRST CUT. A synagogue[1192] shall be called, mistress
Mary; disgrace me not; _pacus palabros_,[1193] I will
conjure for you: farewell. _Exit with his companions._
MOLL. Did not I tell you, my lord?
L. NOL. I wonder how thou camest to the knowledge of
these nasty villains.
S. THO. And why do the foul mouths of the world call
thee Moll Cutpurse? a name, methinks, damned and odious.
MOLL. Dare any step forth to my face and say,
I’ve ta’en thee doing so, Moll? I must confess,
In younger days, when I was apt to stray,
I’ve sat amongst such adders; seen their stings,
As any here might, and in full play-houses
Watch’d their quick-diving hands, to bring to shame
Such rogues, and in that stream met an ill name.
When next, my lord, you spy any one of those,
So he be in his art a scholar, question him;
Tempt him with gold to open the large book
Of his close villanies; and you yourself shall cant
Better than poor Moll can, and know more laws
Of cheators, lifters, nips, foists, puggards,
curbers,[1194]
With all the devil’s black-guard,[1195] than it’s fit
Should be discover’d to a noble wit.
I know they have their orders, offices,
Circuits, and circles, unto which they’re bound
To raise their own damnation in.
J. DAP. How dost thou know it?
MOLL. As you do; I shew’t you, they to me shew it.
Suppose, my lord, you were in Venice——
L. NOL. Well.
MOLL. If some Italian pander there would tell
All the close tricks of courtesans, would not you
Hearken to such a fellow?
L. NOL. Yes.
MOLL. And here,
Being come from Venice, to a friend most dear
That were to travel thither, you’d proclaim
Your knowledge in those villanies, to save
Your friend from their quick danger: must you have
A black ill name, because ill things you know?
Good troth, my lord, I’m made Moll Cutpurse so.
How many are whores in small ruffs and still looks!
How many chaste whose names fill Slander’s books!
Were all men cuckolds whom gallants in their scorns
Call so, we should not walk for goring horns.
Perhaps for my mad going some reprove me;
I please myself, and care not else who love[1196] me.
L. NOL. } A brave mind, Moll, i’faith!
S. BEAU., _&c._ }
S. THO. Come, my lord, shall’s to the ordinary?
L. NOL. Ay, ’tis noon sure.
MOLL. Good my lord, let not my name condemn me to you,
or to the world: a fencer I hope may be called a coward;
is he so for that? If all that have ill names in London
were to be whipt, and to pay but twelve-pence a-piece to
the beadle, I would rather have his office than a
constable’s.
J. DAP. So would I, captain Moll: ’twere a sweet
tickling office, i’faith. [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_A Garden attached to_ SIR ALEX. WENGRAVE’S _house_.

_Enter_ SIR ALEXANDER WENGRAVE, GOSHAWK, GREENWIT, _and
others_.

S. ALEX. My son marry a thief, that impudent girl,
Whom all the world stick their worst eyes upon!
GREEN. How will your care prevent it?
GOS. ’Tis impossible:
They marry close, they’re gone, but none knows whither.
S. ALEX. O gentlemen, when have[1197] a father’s
heart-strings

_Enter Servant._
Held out so long from breaking?—Now what news, sir?
SER. They were met upo’ th’ water an hour since, sir,
Putting in towards the Sluice.
S. ALEX. The Sluice? come, gentlemen,
’Tis Lambeth works against us. [_Exit Servant._
GREEN. And that Lambeth
Joins more mad matches than your six wet towns[1198]
’Twixt that and Windsor Bridge, where fares lie soaking.
S. ALEX. Delay no time, sweet gentlemen: to
Blackfriars!
We’ll take a pair of oars, and make after ’em.

_Enter_ TRAPDOOR.

TRAP. Your son and that bold masculine ramp[1199] my
mistress
Are landed now at Tower.
S. ALEX. Hoyda, at Tower?
TRAP. I heard it now reported.
S. ALEX. Which way, gentlemen,
Shall I bestow my care? I’m drawn in pieces
Betwixt deceit and shame.

_Enter_ SIR GUY FITZALLARD.

S. GUY. Sir Alexander,
You are well met, and most rightly servèd;
My daughter was a scorn to you.
S. ALEX. Say not so, sir.
S. GUY. A very abject she, poor gentlewoman!
Your house had been dishonour’d. Give you joy, sir,
Of your son’s gascoyne-bride![1200] you’ll be a
grandfather shortly
To a fine crew of roaring sons and daughters;
’Twill help to stock the suburbs passing well, sir.
S. ALEX. O, play not with the miseries of my heart!
Wounds should be drest and heal’d, not vex’d, or left
Wide open, to the anguish of the patient,
And scornful air let in; rather let pity
And advice charitably help to refresh ’em.
S. GUY. Who’d place his charity so unworthily?
Like one that gives alms to a cursing beggar:
Had I but found one spark of goodness in you
Toward my deserving child, which then grew fond
Of your son’s virtues, I had eas’d you now;
But I perceive both fire of youth and goodness
Are rak’d up in the ashes of your age,
Else no such shame should have come near your house,
Nor such ignoble sorrow touch your heart.
S. ALEX. If not for worth, for pity’s sake assist me!
GREEN. You urge a thing past sense; how can he help
you?
All his assistance is as frail as ours:
Full as uncertain where’s the place that holds ’em;
One brings us water-news; then comes another
With a full-charg’d mouth, like a culverin’s voice,
And he reports the Tower: whose sounds are truest?
GOS. In vain you flatter him.—Sir Alexander——
S. GUY. I flatter him? gentlemen, you wrong me
grossly.
GREEN. He does it well, i’faith.
S. GUY. Both news are false,
Of Tower or water; they took no such way yet.
S. ALEX. O strange! hear you this, gentlemen? yet more
plunges.[1201]
S. GUY. They’re nearer than you think for, yet more
close
Than if they were further off.
S. ALEX. How am I lost
In these distractions!
S. GUY. For your speeches, gentlemen,
In taxing me for rashness, ’fore you all
I will engage my state to half his wealth,
Nay, to his son’s revenues, which are less,
And yet nothing at all till they come from him,
That I could, if my will stuck to my power,
Prevent this marriage yet, nay, banish her
For ever from his thoughts, much more his arms.
S. ALEX. Slack not this goodness, though you heap upon
me
Mountains of malice and revenge hereafter!
I’d willingly resign up half my state to him,
So he would marry the meanest drudge I hire.
GREEN. He talks impossibilities, and you believe ’em.
S. GUY. I talk no more than I know how to finish,
My fortunes else are his that dares stake with me.
The poor young gentleman I love and pity;
And to keep shame from him (because the spring
Of his affection was my daughter’s first,
Till his frown blasted all), do but estate him
In those possessions which your love and care
Once pointed out for him, that he may have room
To entertain fortunes of noble birth,
Where now his desperate wants cast[1202] him upon her;
And if I do not, for his own sake chiefly,
Rid him of this disease that now grows on him,
I’ll forfeit my whole state, before these gentlemen.
GREEN. Troth, but you shall not undertake such
matches;
We’ll persuade so much with you.
S. ALEX. Here’s my ring; [_Gives ring._
He will believe this token. ’Fore these gentlemen
I will confirm it fully: all those lands
My first love ’lotted him, he shall straight possess
In that refusal.
S. GUY. If I change it not,
Change me into a beggar.
GREEN. Are you mad, sir?
S. GUY. ’Tis done.
GOS. Will you undo yourself by doing,
And shew a prodigal trick in your old days?
S. ALEX. ’Tis a match, gentlemen.
S. GUY. Ay, ay, sir, ay.
I ask no favour, trust to you for none;
My hope rests in the goodness of your son. [_Exit._
GREEN. He holds it up well yet.
GOS. Of an old knight, i’faith.
S. ALEX. Curst be the time I laid his first love
barren,
Wilfully barren, that before this hour
Had sprung forth fruits of comfort and of honour!
He lov’d a virtuous gentlewoman.

_Enter_ MOLL _in her male dress_.

GOS. Life, here’s Moll!
GREEN. Jack?
GOS. How dost thou, Jack?
MOLL. How dost thou, gallant?
S. ALEX. Impudence, where’s my son?
MOLL. Weakness, go look him.
S. ALEX. Is this your wedding gown?
MOLL. The man talks monthly:[1203]
Hot broth and a dark chamber for the knight!
I see he’ll be stark mad at our next meeting. [_Exit._
GOS. Why, sir, take comfort now, there’s no such
matter,
No priest will marry her, sir, for a woman
Whiles that shape’s on; and it was never known
Two men were married and conjoin’d in one:
Your son hath made some shift to love another.
S. ALEX. Whate’er she be, she has my blessing with
her:
May they be rich and fruitful, and receive
Like comfort to their issue as I take
In them! has pleas’d me now; marrying not this,
Through a whole world he could not choose amiss.
GREEN. Glad you’re so penitent for your former sin,
sir.
GOS. Say he should take a wench with her smock-dowry,
No portion with her but her lips and arms?
S. ALEX. Why, who thrive better, sir? they have most
blessing,
Though other have more wealth, and least repent:
Many that want most know the most content.
GREEN. Say he should marry a kind youthful sinner?
S. ALEX. Age will quench that; any offence but theft
And drunkenness, nothing but death can wipe away;
Their sins are green even when their heads are grey.
Nay, I despair not now; my heart’s cheer’d, gentlemen;
No face can come unfortunately to me.—

_Re-enter Servant._

Now, sir, your news?
SER. Your son, with his fair bride,
Is near at hand.
S. ALEX. Fair may their fortunes be!
GREEN. Now you’re resolv’d,[1204] sir, it was never
she.
S. ALEX. I find it in the music of my heart.

_Enter_ SEBASTIAN WENGRAVE _leading in_ MOLL _in her
female dress and masked, and_ SIR GUY FITZALLARD.

See where they come.
GOS. A proper lusty presence, sir.
S. ALEX. Now has he pleas’d me right: I always
counsell’d him
To choose a goodly, personable creature:
Just of her pitch was my first wife his mother.
SEB. Before I dare discover my offence,
I kneel for pardon. [_Kneels._
S. ALEX. My heart gave it thee
Before thy tongue could ask it:
Rise; thou hast rais’d my joy to greater height
Than to that seat where grief dejected it.
Both welcome to my love and care for ever!
Hide not my happiness too long; all’s pardon’d;
Here are our friends.—Salute her, gentlemen.
[_They unmask her._
ALL. Heart, who’s this? Moll!
S. ALEX. O my reviving shame! is’t I must live
To be struck blind? be it the work of sorrow,
Before age take’t in hand!
S. GUY. Darkness and death!
Have you deceiv’d me thus? did I engage
My whole estate for this?
S. ALEX. You ask’d no favour,
And you shall find as little: since my comforts
Play false with me, I’ll be as cruel to thee
As grief to fathers’ hearts.
MOLL. Why, what’s the matter with you,
’Less too much joy should make your age forgetful?
Are you too well, too happy?
S. ALEX. With a vengeance!
MOLL. Methinks you should be proud of such a daughter,
As good a man as your son.
S. ALEX. O monstrous impudence!
MOLL. You had no note before, an unmark’d knight;
Now all the town will take regard on you,
And all your enemies fear you for my sake:
You may pass where you list, through crowds most thick,
And come off bravely with your purse unpick’d.
You do not know the benefits I bring with me;
No cheat dares work upon you with thumb[1205] or knife,
While you’ve a roaring girl to your son’s wife.
S. ALEX. A devil rampant!
S. GUY. Have you so much charity
Yet to release me of my last rash bargain,
And I’ll give in your pledge?
S. ALEX. No, sir, I stand to’t;
I’ll work upon advantage, as all mischiefs
Do upon me.
S. GUY. Content. Bear witness all, then,
His are the lands; and so contention ends:
Here comes your son’s bride ’twixt two noble friends.

_Enter_ LORD NOLAND _and_ SIR BEAUTEOUS GANYMEDE
_with_ MARY FITZALLARD _between them_; GALLIPOT,
TILTYARD, OPENWORK, _and their Wives_.

MOLL. Now are you gull’d as you would be; thank me
for’t,
I’d a forefinger in’t.
SEB. Forgive me, father!
Though there before your eyes my sorrow feign’d,
This still was she for whom true love complain’d.
S. ALEX. Blessings eternal, and the joys of angels,
Begin your peace here to be sign’d in heaven!
How short my sleep of sorrow seems now to me,
To this eternity of boundless comforts,
That finds no want but utterance and expression!
My lord, your office here appears so honourably,
So full of ancient goodness, grace, and worthiness,
I never took more joy in sight of man
Than in your comfortable presence now.
L. NOL. Nor I more delight in doing grace to virtue
Than in this worthy gentlewoman your son’s bride,
Noble Fitzallard’s daughter, to whose honour
And modest fame I am a servant vow’d;
So is this knight.
S. ALEX. Your loves make my joys proud.
Bring forth those deeds of land my care laid ready,
[_Exit Servant, who presently returns with deeds._'
And which, old knight, thy nobleness may challenge,
Join’d with thy daughter’s virtues, whom I prize now
As dearly as that flesh I call mine own.
Forgive me, worthy gentlewoman; ’twas my blindness:
When I rejected thee, I saw thee not;
Sorrow and wilful rashness grew like films
Over the eyes of judgment; now so clear
I see the brightness of thy worth appear.
MARY. Duty and love may I deserve in those!
And all my wishes have a perfect close.
S. ALEX. That tongue can never err, the sound’s so
sweet.
Here, honest son, receive into thy hands
The keys of wealth, possession of those lands
Which my first care provided; they’re thine own;
Heaven give thee a blessing with ’em! the best joys
That can in worldly shapes to man betide
Are fertile lands and a fair fruitful bride,
Of which I hope thou’rt sped.
SEB. I hope so too, sir.
MOLL. Father and son, I ha’ done you simple service
here.
SEB. For which thou shalt not part, Moll, unrequited.
S. ALEX. Thou’rt a mad girl, and yet I cannot now
Condemn thee.
MOLL. Condemn me? troth, and[1206] you should, sir,
I’d make you seek out one to hang in my room:
I’d give you the slip at gallows, and cozen the people.
Heard you this jest, my lord?
L. NOL. What is it, Jack?
MOLL. He was in fear his son would marry me,
But never dreamt that I would ne’er agree.
L. NOL. Why, thou had’st a suitor once, Jack: when
wilt marry?
MOLL. Who, I, my lord? I’ll tell you when, i’faith;
When you shall hear
Gallants void from sergeants’ fear,
Honesty and truth unslander’d,
Woman mann’d, but never pander’d,
Cheats[1207] booted, but not coach’d,
Vessels older ere they’re broach’d;
If my mind be then not varied,
Next day following I’ll be married.
L. NOL. This sounds like doomsday.
MOLL. Then were marriage best;
For if I should repent, I were soon at rest.
S. ALEX. In troth thou’rt a good wench: I’m sorry now
The opinion was so hard I conceiv’d of thee:

_Enter_ TRAPDOOR.

Some wrongs I’ve done thee.
TRAP. Is the wind there now?
’Tis time for me to kneel and confess first,
For fear it come too late, and my brains feel it.
[_Aside._
Upon my paws I ask you pardon, mistress!
MOLL. Pardon! for what, sir? what has your rogueship
done now?
TRAP. I’ve been from time to time hir’d to confound
you
By this old gentleman.
MOLL. How?
TRAP. Pray, forgive him:
But may I counsel you, you should never do’t.
Many a snare t’ entrap your worship’s life
Have I laid privily; chains, watches, jewels;
And when he saw nothing could mount you up,
Four hollow-hearted angels[1208] he then gave you,
By which he meant to trap you, I to save you.
S. ALEX. To all which shame and grief in me cry
guilty.
Forgive me: now I cast the world’s eyes from me,
And look upon thee freely with mine own,
I see the most of many wrongs before me,[1209]
Cast from the jaws of Envy and her people,
And nothing foul but that. I’11 never more
Condemn by common voice, for that’s the whore
That deceives man’s opinion, mocks his trust,
Cozens his love, and makes his heart unjust.
MOLL. Here be the angels, gentlemen; they were
As a musician: I pursue no pity;
Follow the law, and[1210] you can cuck[1211] me, spare
not;
Hang up my viol by me, and I care not.
S. ALEX. So far I’m sorry, I’ll thrice double ’em,
To make thy wrongs amends.
Come, worthy friends, my honourable lord,
Sir Beauteous Ganymede, and noble Fitzallard,
And you kind gentlewomen,[1212] whose sparkling presence
Are glories set in marriage, beams of society,
For all your loves give lustre to my joys:
The happiness of this day shall be remember’d
At the return of every smiling spring;
In my time now ’tis born; and may no sadness
Sit on the brows of men upon that day,
But as I am, so all go pleas’d away! [_Exeunt omnes._