Chapter III: Act II: Scene I

_A Room in_ LUCRE’S _House_.

_Enter_ LUCRE.

LUC. My adversary evermore twits me with my nephew,
forsooth, my nephew: why may not a virtuous uncle have a
dissolute nephew? What though he be a brotheller, a
wastethrift, a common surfeiter, and, to conclude, a
beggar, must sin in him call up shame in me? Since we
have no part in their follies, why should we have part
in their infamies? For my strict hand toward his
mortgage, that I deny not: I confess I had an uncle’s
pen’worth; let me see, half in half, true: I saw neither
hope of his reclaiming, nor comfort in his being; and
was it not then better bestowed upon his uncle than upon
one of his aunts?—I need not say bawd, for every one
knows what aunt stands for in the last translation.

_Enter Servant._

Now, sir?
SER. There’s a country serving-man, sir, attends to
speak with your worship.
LUC. I’m at best leisure now; send him in to me.
[_Exit Servant._

_Enter Host disguised as a serving-man._

HOST. Bless your venerable worship.
LUC. Welcome, good fellow.
HOST. He calls me thief[33] at first sight, yet he
little thinks I am an host. [_Aside._
LUC. What’s thy business with me?
HOST. Faith, sir, I am sent from my mistress, to any
sufficient gentleman indeed, to ask advice upon a
doubtful point: ’tis indifferent, sir, to whom I come,
for I know none, nor did my mistress direct me to any
particular man, for she’s as mere a stranger here as
myself; only I found your worship within, and ’tis a
thing I ever loved, sir, to be despatched as soon as I
can.
LUC. A good, blunt honesty; I like him well. [_Aside._]—
What is thy mistress?
HOST. Faith, a country gentlewoman, and a widow, sir.
Yesterday was the first flight of us; but now she
intends to stay till a little term business be ended.
LUC. Her name, I prithee?
HOST. It runs there in the writings, sir, among her
lands; widow Medler.
LUC. Medler? mass, have I ne’er heard of that widow?
HOST. Yes, I warrant you, have you, sir: not the rich
widow in Staffordshire?
LUC. Cuds me, there ’tis indeed; thou hast put me into
memory: there’s a widow indeed! ah, that I were a
bachelor again!
HOST. No doubt your worship might do much then; but
she’s fairly promised to a bachelor already.
LUC. Ah, what is he, I prithee?
HOST. A country gentleman too; one whom your worship
knows not, I’m sure; has spent some few follies in his
youth, but marriage, by my faith, begins to call him
home: my mistress loves him, sir, and love covers
faults, you know: one master Witgood, if ever you have
heard of the gentleman.
LUC. Ha! Witgood, sayst thou?
HOST. That’s his name indeed, sir; my mistress is like
to bring him to a goodly seat yonder; four hundred
a-year, by my faith.
LUC. But, I pray, take me with you.[34]
HOST. Ay, sir.
LUC. What countryman might this young Witgood be?
HOST. A Leicestershire gentleman, sir.
LUC. My nephew, by th’ mass, my nephew! I’ll fetch out
more of this, i’faith: a simple country fellow, I’ll
work’t out of him. [_Aside._]—And is that gentleman,
sayst thou, presently to marry her?
HOST. Faith, he brought her up to town, sir; has the
best card in all the bunch for’t, her heart; and I know
my mistress will be married ere she go down; nay, I’ll
swear that, for she’s none of those widows that will go
down first, and be married after; she hates that, I can
tell you, sir.
LUC. By my faith, sir, she is like to have a proper
gentleman, and a comely; I’ll give her that gift.
HOST. Why, does your worship know him, sir?
LUC. I know him? does not all the world know him? can a
man of such exquisite qualities be hid under a bushel?
HOST. Then your worship may save me a labour, for I had
charge given me to inquire after him.
LUC. Inquire of him? If I might counsel thee, thou
shouldst ne’er trouble thyself further; inquire of him
of no more but of me; I’ll fit thee. I grant he has been
youthful; but is he not now reclaimed? mark you that,
sir: has not your mistress, think you, been wanton in
her youth? if men be wags, are there not women wagtails?
HOST. No doubt, sir.
LUC. Does not he return wisest that comes home whipt
with his own follies?
HOST. Why, very true, sir.
LUC. The worst report you can hear of him, I can tell
you, is that he has been a kind gentleman, a liberal,
and a worthy: who but lusty Witgood, thrice-noble
Witgood!
HOST. Since your worship has so much knowledge in him,
can you resolve[35] me, sir, what his living might be?
my duty binds me, sir, to have a care of my mistress’
estate; she has been ever a good mistress to me, though
I say it: many wealthy suitors has she nonsuited for his
sake; yet though her love be so fixed, a man cannot tell
whether his non-performance may help to remove it, sir:
he makes us believe he has lands and living.
LUC. Who, young master Witgood? why, believe it, he has
as goodly a fine living out yonder,—what do you call the
place?
HOST. Nay, I know not, i’faith.
LUC. Hum—see, like a beast, if I have not forgot the
name—pooh! and out yonder again, goodly grown woods and
fair meadows: pax[36] on’t, I can ne’er hit of that
place neither: he? why, he’s Witgood of Witgood Hall;
he, an unknown thing!
HOST. Is he so, sir? To see how rumour will alter! trust
me, sir, we heard once he had no lands, but all lay
mortgaged to an uncle he has in town here.
LUC. Push,[37] ’tis a tale, ’tis a tale.
HOST. I can assure you, sir, ’twas credibly reported to
my mistress.
LUC. Why, do you think, i’faith, he was ever so simple
to mortgage his lands to his uncle? or his uncle so
unnatural to take the extremity of such a mortgage?
HOST. That was my saying still, sir.
LUC. Pooh, ne’er think it.
HOST. Yet that report goes current.
LUC. Nay, then you urge me: Cannot I tell that best that
am his uncle?
HOST. How, sir? what have I done!
LUC. Why, how now! in a swoon, man?
HOST. Is your worship his uncle, sir?
LUC. Can that be any harm to you, sir?
HOST. I do beseech you, sir, do me the favour to conceal
it: what a beast was I to utter so much! pray, sir, do
me the kindness to keep it in; I shall have my coat
pulled o’er my ears, an’t should be known; for the truth
is, an’t please your worship, to prevent much rumour and
many suitors, they intend to be married very suddenly
and privately.
LUC. And dost thou think it stands with my judgment to
do them injury? must I needs say the knowledge of this
marriage comes from thee? am I a fool at fifty-four? do
I lack subtlety now, that have got all my wealth by it?
There’s a leash of angels[38] for thee: come, let me woo
thee speak where lie they?
HOST. So I might have no anger, sir——
LUC. Passion of me, not a jot: prithee, come.
HOST. I would not have it known, sir,[39] it came by my
means.
LUC. Why, am I a man of wisdom?
HOST. I dare trust your worship, sir; but I’m a stranger
to your house; and to avoid all intelligencers, I desire
your worship’s ear.
LUC. This fellow’s worth a matter of trust. [_Aside._]—
Come, sir. [_Host whispers to him._] Why, now thou’rt an
honest lad.—Ah, sirrah, nephew!
HOST. Please you, sir, now I have begun with your
worship, when shall I attend for your advice upon that
doubtful point? I must come warily now.
LUC. Tut, fear thou nothing; To-morrow’s evening shall
resolve the doubt.
HOST. The time shall cause my attendance.
LUC. Fare thee well. [_Exit Host._]—There’s more true
honesty in such a country serving-man than in a hundred
of our cloak companions:[40] I may well call ’em
companions, for since blue coats have been turned into
cloaks,[41] we can scarce know the man from the master.—
George!

_Enter_ GEORGE.

GEO. Anon, sir.
LUC. List hither: [_whispers_] keep the place secret:
commend me to my nephew; I know no cause, tell him, but
he might see his uncle.
GEO. I will, sir.
LUC. And, do you hear, sir? Take heed you use him with
respect and duty.
GEO. Here’s a strange alteration; one day he must be
turned out like a beggar, and now he must be called in
like a knight. [_Aside, and exit._
LUC. Ah, sirrah, that rich widow!—four hundred a-year!
beside, I hear she lays claim to a title of a hundred
more. This falls unhappily that he should bear a grudge
to me now, being likely to prove so rich: what is’t,
trow,[42] that he makes me a stranger for? Hum,—I hope
he has not so much wit to apprehend that I cozened him:
he deceives me then. Good heaven, who would have thought
it would ever have come to this pass! yet he’s a proper
gentleman, i’faith, give him his due, marry, that’s his
mortgage; but that I ne’er mean to give him: I’ll make
him rich enough in words, if that be good; and if it
come to a piece of money, I will not greatly stick
for’t; there may be hope some of the widow’s lands, too,
may one day fall upon me, if things be carried wisely.

_Re-enter_ GEORGE.

Now, sir, where is he?
GEO. He desires your worship to hold him excused; he has
such weighty business, it commands him wholly from all
men.
LUC. Were those my nephew’s words?
GEO. Yes, indeed, sir.
LUC. When men grow rich, they grow proud too, I perceive
that; he would not have sent me such an answer once
within this twelvemonth: see what ’tis when a man’s come
to his lands! [_Aside._]—Return to him again, sir; tell
him his uncle desires his company for an hour; I’ll
trouble him but an hour, say; ’tis for his own good,
tell him: and, do you hear, sir? put _worship_ upon him:
go to, do as I bid you; he’s like to be a gentleman of
worship very shortly.
GEO. This is good sport, i’faith. [_Aside, and exit._
LUC. Troth, he uses his uncle discourteously now: can he
tell what I may do for him? goodness may come from me in
a minute, that comes not in seven year again: he knows
my humour; I am not so usually good; ’tis no small thing
that draws kindness from me, he may know that and[43] he
will. The chief cause that invites me to do him most
good, is the sudden astonishing of old Hoard, my
adversary: how pale his malice will look at my nephew’s
advancement! with what a dejected spirit he will behold
his fortunes, whom but last day he proclaimed rioter,
penurious makeshift, despised brothel-master![44] Ha,
ha! ’twill do me more secret joy than my last purchase,
more precious comfort than all these widow’s revenues.

_Re-enter_ GEORGE, _shewing in_ WITGOOD.

Now, sir?
GEO. With much entreaty he’s at length come, sir.
[_Exit._
LUC. O, nephew, let me salute you, sir! you’re welcome,
nephew.
WIT. Uncle, I thank you.
LUC. You’ve a fault, nephew; you’re a stranger here:
Well, heaven give you joy!
WIT. Of what, sir?
LUC. Hah, we can hear!
You might have known your uncle’s house, i’faith,
You and your widow: go to, you were to blame;
If I may tell you so without offence.
WIT. How could you hear of that, sir?
LUC. O, pardon me!
’Twas[45] your will to have kept it[46] from me, I
perceive now.
WIT. Not for any defect of love, I protest, uncle.
LUC. O, ’twas unkindness, nephew! fie, fie, fie.
WIT. I am sorry you take it in that sense, sir.
LUC. Pooh, you cannot colour it, i’faith, nephew.

WIT. Will you but hear what I can say in my just excuse,
sir?
LUC. Yes, faith, will I, and welcome.
WIT. You that know my danger i’ th’ city, sir, so well,
how great my debts are, and how extreme my creditors,
could not out of your pure judgment, sir, have wished us
hither.
LUC. Mass, a firm reason indeed.
WIT. Else, my uncle’s house! why, ’t had been the only
make-match.
LUC. Nay, and thy credit.
WIT. My credit? nay, my countenance: push,[47] nay, I
know, uncle, you would have wrought it so by your wit,
you would have made her believe in time the whole house
had been mine.
LUC. Ay, and most of the goods too.
WIT. La, you there! well, let ’em all prate what they
will, there’s nothing like the bringing of a widow to
one’s uncle’s house.
LUC. Nay, let nephews be ruled as they list, they shall
find their uncle’s house the most natural place when
all’s done.
WIT. There they may be bold.
LUC. Life, they may do any thing there, man, and fear
neither beadle nor somner:[48] an uncle’s house! a very
Cole-Harbour.[49] Sirrah, I’ll touch thee near now: hast
thou so much interest in thy widow, that by a token thou
couldst presently send for her?
WIT. Troth, I think I can, uncle.
LUC. Go to, let me see that.
WIT. Pray, command one of your men hither, uncle.
LUC. George!

_Re-enter_ GEORGE.

GEO. Here, sir.
LUC. Attend my nephew. [WITGOOD _whispers to_ GEORGE,
_who then goes out_.]—I love a’ life[50] to prattle with
a rich widow; ’tis pretty, methinks, when our tongues go
together: and then to promise much and perform little; I
love that sport a’ life, i’faith: yet I am in the mood
now to do my nephew some good, if he take me handsomely.
[_Aside._]—What, have you despatched?
WIT. I ha’ sent, sir.
LUC. Yet I must condemn you of unkindness, nephew.
WIT. Heaven forbid, uncle!
LUC. Yes, faith, must I. Say your debts be many, your
creditors importunate, yet the kindness of a thing is
all, nephew: you might have sent me close word on’t,
without the least danger or prejudice to your fortunes.
WIT. Troth, I confess it, uncle; I was to blame there;
but, indeed, my intent was to have clapped it up
suddenly, and so have broke forth like a joy to my
friends, and a wonder to the world: beside, there’s a
trifle of a forty pound matter toward the setting of me
forth; my friends should ne’er have known on’t; I meant
to make shift for that myself.
LUC. How, nephew? let me not hear such a word again, I
beseech you: shall I be beholding[51] to you?
WIT. To me? Alas, what do you mean, uncle?
LUC. I charge you, upon my love, you trouble nobody but
myself.
WIT. You’ve no reason for that, uncle.
LUC. Troth, I’ll ne’er be friends with you while you
live, and[52] you do.
WIT. Nay, and you say so, uncle, here’s my hand; I will
not do’t.
LUC. Why, well said! there’s some hope in thee when thou
wilt be ruled; I’ll make it up fifty, faith, because I
see thee so reclaimed. Peace; here comes my wife with
Sam, her t’other husband’s son.

_Enter_ MISTRESS LUCRE _and_ FREEDOM.

WIT. Good aunt.
FREE. Cousin Witgood, I rejoice in my salute; you’re
most welcome to this noble city, governed with the sword
in the scabbard.
WIT. And the wit in the pommel. [_Aside._]—Good master
Sam Freedom, I return the salute.
LUC. By the mass, she’s coming, wife; let me see now how
thou wilt entertain her.
MIS. L. I hope I am not to learn, sir, to entertain a
widow; ’tis not so long ago since I was one myself.

_Enter Courtesan._

WIT. Uncle——
LUC. She’s come indeed.
WIT. My uncle was desirous to see you, widow, and I
presumed to invite you.
COURT. The presumption was nothing, master Witgood: is
this your uncle, sir?
LUC. Marry am I, sweet widow; and his good uncle he
shall find me; ay, by this smack that I give thee
[_kisses her_], thou’rt welcome.—Wife, bid the widow
welcome the same way again,
FREE. I am a gentleman now too by my father’s
occupation, and I see no reason but I may kiss a widow
by my father’s copy: truly, I think the charter is not
against it; surely these are the words, _The son once a
gentleman may revel it, though his father were a
dauber_; ’tis about the fifteenth page: I’ll to her.
[_Aside, then offers to kiss the Courtesan, who repulses him._
LUC. You’re not very busy now; a word with thee, sweet
widow.
FREE. Coads-nigs! I was never so disgraced since the
hour my mother whipt me.
LUC. Beside, I have no child of mine own to care for;
she’s my second wife, old, past bearing: clap sure to
him, widow; he’s like to be my heir, I can tell you.
COURT. Is he so, sir?
LUC. He knows it already, and the knave’s proud on’t:
jolly rich widows have been offered him here i’ th’
city, great merchants’ wives; and do you think he would
once look upon ’em? forsooth, he’ll none: you are
beholding[53] to him i’ th’ country, then, ere we could
be: nay, I’ll hold a wager, widow, if he were once known
to be in town, he would be presently sought after; nay,
and happy were they that could catch him first.
COURT. I think so.
LUC. O, there would be such running to and fro, widow!
he should not pass the streets for ’em: he’d be took up
in one great house or other presently: faugh! they know
he has it, and must have it. You see this house here,
widow; this house and all comes to him; goodly rooms,
ready furnished, ceiled with plaster of Paris, and all
hung about[54] with cloth of arras.—Nephew.
WIT. Sir.
LUC. Shew the widow your house; carry her into all the
rooms, and bid her welcome.—You shall see, widow.—
Nephew, strike all sure above and[55] thou beest a good
boy,—ah! [_Aside to_ WITGOOD.
WIT. Alas, sir, I know not how she would take it!
LUC. The right way, I warrant t’ye: a pox, art an ass?
would I were in thy stead! get you up, I am ashamed of
you. [_Exeunt_ WITGOOD _and Courtesan_]. So: let ’em
agree as they will now: many a match has been struck up
in my house a’ this fashion: let ’em try all manner of
ways, still there’s nothing like an uncle’s house to
strike the stroke in. I’ll hold my wife in talk a
little.—Now, Jenny, your son there goes a-wooing to a
poor gentlewoman but of a thousand [pound] portion: see
my nephew, a lad of less hope, strikes at four hundred
a-year in good rubbish.
MIS. L. Well, we must do as we may, sir.
LUC. I’ll have his money ready told for him again[56] he
come down: let me see, too;—by th’ mass, I must present
the widow with some jewel, a good piece of[57] plate, or
such a device; ’twill hearten her on well: I have a very
fair standing cup; and a good high standing cup will
please a widow above all other pieces. [_Exit._
MIS. L. Do you mock us with your nephew?—I have a plot
in my head, son;—i’faith, husband, to cross you.
FREE. Is it a tragedy plot, or a comedy plot, good
mother?
MIS. L. ’Tis a plot shall vex him. I charge you, of my
blessing, son Sam, that you presently withdraw the
action of your love from master Hoard’s niece.
FREE. How, mother?
MIS. L. Nay, I have a plot in my head, i’faith. Here,
take this chain of gold, and this fair diamond: dog
me the widow home to her lodging, and at thy best
opportunity fasten ’em both upon her. Nay, I have a
reach: I can tell you thou art known what thou art, son,
among the right worshipful, all the twelve companies.
FREE. Truly, I thank ’em for it.
MIS. L. He? he’s a scab to thee: and so certify her thou
hast two hundred a-year of thyself, beside thy good
parts—a proper person and a lovely. If I were a widow, I
could find in my heart to have thee myself, son; ay,
from ’em all.
FREE. Thank you for your good will, mother; but, indeed,
I had rather have a stranger: and if I woo her not in
that violent fashion, that I will make her be glad to
take these gifts ere I leave her, let me never be called
the heir of your body.
MIS. L. Nay, I know there’s enough in you, son, if you
once come to put it forth.
FREE. I’ll quickly make a bolt or a shaft on’t.[58]
[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_A Street._

_Enter_ HOARD _and_ MONEYLOVE.
MON. Faith, master Hoard, I have bestowed many months in
the suit of your niece, such was the dear love I ever
bore to her virtues: but since she hath so extremely
denied me, I am to lay out for my fortunes elsewhere.
HOA. Heaven forbid but you should, sir! I ever told you
my niece stood otherwise affected.
MON. I must confess you did, sir; yet, in regard of my
great loss of time, and the zeal with which I sought
your niece, shall I desire one favour of your worship?
HOA. In regard of those two, ’tis hard but you shall,
sir.
MON. I shall rest grateful: ’tis not full three hours,
sir, since the happy rumour of a rich country widow came
to my hearing.
HOA. How? a rich country widow?
MON. Four hundred a-year landed.
HOA. Yea?
MON. Most firm, sir; and I have learnt her lodging: here
my suit begins, sir; if I might but entreat your worship
to be a countenance for me, and speak a good word (for
your words will pass), I nothing doubt but I might set
fair for the widow; nor shall your labour, sir, end
altogether in thanks; two hundred angels[59]——
HOA. So, so: what suitors has she?
MON. There lies the comfort, sir; the report of her is
yet but a whisper; and only solicited by young riotous
Witgood, nephew to your mortal adversary.
HOA. Ha! art certain he’s her suitor?
MON. Most certain, sir; and his uncle very industrious
to beguile the widow, and make up the match.
HOA. So: very good.
MON. Now, sir, you know this young Witgood is a
spendthrift, dissolute fellow.
HOA. A very rascal.
MON. A midnight surfeiter.
HOA. The spume of a brothel-house.
MON. True, sir: which being well told in your worship’s
phrase, may both heave him out of her mind, and drive a
fair way for me to the widow’s affections.
HOA. Attend me about five.
MON. With my best care, sir. [_Exit._
HOA. Fool, thou hast left thy treasure with a thief,
To trust a widower with a suit in love!
Happy revenge, I hug thee! I have not only the means
laid before me, extremely to cross my adversary, and
confound the last hopes of his nephew, but thereby to
enrich my state, augment my revenues, and build mine own
fortunes greater: ha, ha!
I’ll mar your phrase, o’erturn your flatteries,
Undo your windings, policies, and plots,
Fall like a secret and despatchful plague
On your secured comforts. Why, I am able
To buy three of Lucre; thrice outbid him,
Let my out-monies be reckoned and all.

_Enter Three of_ WITGOOD’S _Creditors_.

FIRST C. I am glad of this news.
SEC. C. So are we, by my faith.
THIRD C. Young Witgood will be a gallant again now.
HOA. Peace. [_Listening._
FIRST C. I promise you, master Cockpit, she’s a mighty
rich widow.
SEC. C. Why, have you ever heard of her?
FIRST C. Who? widow Medler? she lies open to much
rumour.
THIRD C. Four hundred a-year, they say, in very good
land.
FIRST C. Nay, take’t of my word, if you believe that,
you believe the least.
SEC. C. And to see how close he keeps it!
FIRST C. O, sir, there’s policy in that, to prevent
better suitors.
THIRD C. He owes me a hundred pound, and I protest I
ne’er looked for a penny.
FIRST C. He little dreams of our coming; he’ll wonder to
see his creditors upon him. [_Exeunt Creditors._
HOA. Good, his creditors: I’ll follow. This makes for
me:
All know the widow’s wealth; and ’tis well known
I can estate her fairly, ay, and will.
In this one chance shines a twice happy fate;
I both deject my foe and raise my state. [_Exit._