Chapter XXVIII: Act IV: Scene I

_A room in_ SIR FRANCIS CRESSINGHAM′S _house_.

_Enter_ SIR FRANCIS CRESSINGHAM _and Surveyor
severally_.

SUR. Where’s master steward?
SIR F. CRES. Within: what are you, sir?
SUR. A surveyor, sir.
SIR F. CRES. And an almanac-maker, I take it: can you
tell me what foul weather is toward?[939]
SUR. Marry, the foulest weather is, that your land is
flying away. [_Exit._
SIR F. CRES. A most terrible prognostication! All the
resort, all the business to my house is to my lady and
master steward, whilst sir Francis stands for a cipher;
I have made away myself and my power, as if I had done
it by deed of gift: here comes the comptroller of the
game.

_Enter_ SAUNDER.

SAUN. What, are you yet resolved to translate this
unnecessary land into ready money?
SIR F. CRES. Translate it!
SAUN. The conveyances are drawn, and the money ready: my
lady sent me to you to know directly if you meant to go
through in the sale; if not, she resolves of another
course.
SIR F. CRES. Thou speakest this cheerfully, methinks;
whereas faithful servants were wont to mourn when they
beheld the lord that fed and cherished them, as[940] by
cursed enchantment, removed into another blood.
Cressingham of Cressingham has continued many years, and
must the name sink now?
SAUN. All this is nothing to my lady’s resolution; it
must be done, or she’ll not stay in England: she would
know whether your son be sent for, that must likewise
set his hand to the sale; for otherwise the lawyers say
there cannot be a sure conveyance made to the buyer.
SIR F. CRES. Yes, I have sent for him; but, I pray thee,
think what a hard task ’twill be for a father to
persuade his son and heir to make away his inheritance.
SAUN. Nay, for that, use your own logic; I have heard
you talk at the sessions terribly against deer-stealers,
and that kept you from being put out of the commission.
[_Exit._
SIR F. CRES. I do live to see two miseries; one to be
commanded by my wife, the other to be censured by my
slave.

_Enter_ GEORGE CRESSINGHAM.

G. CRES. That which I have wanted long, and has been
cause of my irregular courses, I beseech you let raise
me from the ground. [_Kneels._
SIR F. CRES. [_raising him and giving money_] Rise,
George; there’s a hundred pounds for you, and my
blessing, with these your mother’s favour: but I hear
your studies are become too licentious of late.
G. CRES. Has heard of my cozenage. [_Aside._
SIR F. CRES. What’s that you are writing?
G. CRES. Sir, not any thing.
SIR F. CRES. Come, I hear there’s something coming forth
of yours will be your undoing.
G. CRES. Of mine?
SIR F. CRES. Yes, of your writing; somewhat you should
write will be dangerous to you. I have a suit to you.
G. CRES. Sir, my obedience makes you commander in all
things.
SIR F. CRES. I pray, suppose I had committed some fault,
for which my life and sole estate were forfeit to the
law, and that some great man near the king should labour
to get my pardon, on condition he might enjoy my
lordship, could you prize your father’s life above the
grievous loss of your inheritance?
G. CRES. Yes, and my own life at stake too.
SIR F. CRES. You promise fair; I come now to make trial
of it. You know I have married one whom I hold so dear,
that my whole life is nothing but a mere estate
depending upon her will and her affections to me; she
deserves so well, I cannot longer merit than _durante
bene placita_: ’tis her pleasure, and her wisdom moves
in’t too, of which I'll give you ample satisfaction
hereafter, that I sell the land my father left me: you
change colour! I have promised her to do’t; and should I
fail, I must expect the remainder of my life as full of
trouble and vexation as the suit for a divorce: it lies
in you, by setting of your hand unto the sale, to add
length to his life that gave you yours.
G. CRES. Sir, I do now[941] ingeniously perceive why you
said lately somewhat I should write would be my
undoing, meaning, as I take it, setting my hand to this
assurance. O, good sir, shall I pass away my birthright?
O, remember there is a malediction denounced against
it in holy writ! Will you, for her pleasure, the
inheritance of desolation leave to your posterity? think
how compassionate the creatures of the field, that only
live on the wild benefits of nature,[942] are unto their
young ones; think likewise you may have more children by
this woman, and by this act you undo them too. ’Tis
a strange precedent this, to see an obedient son
labouring good counsel to the father; but know, sir,
that the spirits of my great-grandfather and your
father move[943] at this present in me, and what they
bequeathed you on their[944] deathbed, they charge you
not to give away in the dalliance of a woman’s bed. Good
sir, let it not be thought presumption in me that I have
continued my speech unto this length; the cause, sir, is
urgent, and, believe it, you shall find her beauty as
malevolent unto you as a red morning, that doth still
foretell a foul day to follow. O, sir, keep your land!
keep that to keep your name immortal, and you shall see
All that her malice and proud will procures
Shall shew her ugly heart, but hurt not yours.
SIR F. CRES. O, I am distracted, and my very soul sends
blushes into my cheeks!

_Enter_ GEORGE _with_ MARIA _and_ EDWARD.

G. CRES. See here an object to beget more compassion.
GEO. O, sir Francis, we have a most lamentable house at
home! nothing to be heard in’t but separation and
divorces, and such a noise of the spiritual court, as if
it were a tenement upon London Bridge, and built upon
the arches.
SIR F. CRES. What’s the matter?
GEO. All about boarding your children: my mistress is
departed.
SIR F. CRES. Dead!
GEO. In a sort she is, and laid out too, for she is run
away from my master.
SIR F. CRES. Whither?
GEO. Seven miles off, into Essex; she vowed never to
leave Barking while she lived, till these were brought
home again.
SIR F. CRES. O, they shall not offend her: I am sorry
for’t.
MARIA.[945] I am glad we are come home, sir; for we
lived in the unquietest house!
EDW. The angry woman, methought, grutched[946] us our
victuals; our new mother is a good soul, and loves us,
and does not frown so like a vixen as she does.
MARIA. I am at home now, and in heaven, methinks: what a
comfort ’tis to be under your wing!
EDW. Indeed, my mother was wont to call me your
nestle-cock, and I love you as well as she did.
SIR F. CRES. You are my pretty souls!
G. CRES. Does not the prattle of these move you?

_Re-enter_ SAUNDER _with_ KNAVESBY, _and Surveyor_.

SAUN. Look you, sir, here’s the conveyance and my
lady’s solicitor; pray resolve what to do, my lady is
coming down.—How now, George? how does thy mistress,
that sits in a wainscot-gown,[947] like a citizen’s lure
to draw in customers? O, she’s a pretty mouse-trap!
GEO. She’s ill baited though to take a Welshman, she
cannot away with[948] cheese.
SIR F. CRES. And what must I do now?
KNA. Acknowledge a fine and recovery of the land; then
for possession the course is common.
SIR F. CRES. Carry back the writings, sir; my mind is
changed.
SAUN. Changed! do not you mean to seal?

_Enter_ LADY CRESSINGHAM.

SIR F. CRES. No, sir, the tide’s turned.
SAUN. You must temper him like wax, or he’ll not seal.
L. CRES. Are you come back again?—How now, have you
done?
MARIA. How do you, lady mother?
L. CRES. You are good children.—Bid my woman give them
some sweetmeats.
MARIA. Indeed, I thank you:—is not this a kind mother?
G. CRES. Poor fools, you know not how dear you shall pay
for this sugar!
[_Exeunt._ GEORGE _with_ MARIA _and_ EDWARD.
L. CRES. What, ha’nt you despatched?
SIR F. CRES. No, sweetest, I'm dissuaded by my son
From the sale o' the land.
L. CRES. Dissuaded by your son!
SIR F. CRES. I cannot get his hand to’t.
L. CRES. Where’s our steward?
Cause presently that all my beds and hangings
Be taken down; provide carts, pack them up;
I'll to my house i' the country: have I studied
The way to your preferment and your children’s,
And do you cool i' th' upshot?
G. CRES. With your pardon,
I cannot understand this course a way
To any preferment, rather a direct
Path to our ruin.
L. CRES. O, sir, you’re young-sighted:—
Shew them the project of the land I mean
To buy in Ireland, that shall outvalue yours
Three thousand in a year.
KNA. [_shewing map_] Look you, sir; here is Clangibbon,
a fruitful country, and well wooded.
SIR F. CRES. What’s this? marsh ground?
KNA. No, these are bogs, but a little cost will drain
them: this upper part, that runs by the black water, is
the Cossack’s land,—a spacious country, and yields
excellent profit by the salmon and fishing for herring;
here runs the Kernesdale, admirable feed for cattle; and
hereabout is St. Patrick’s Purgatory.[949]
G. CRES. Purgatory? shall we purchase that too?
L. CRES. Come, come, will you despatch the other
business,
We may go through with this?
SIR F. CRES. My son’s unwilling.
L. CRES. Upon my soul, sir, I'll ne’er bed with you
Till you have seal’d.
SIR F. CRES. Thou hear’st her: on thy blessing
Follow me to the court, and seal.
G. CRES. Sir, were it my death, were’t to the loss of my
estate, I vow to obey you in all things; yet with it
remember there are two young ones living that may curse
you; I pray dispose part of the money on their generous
educations.
L. CRES. Fear no[t] you, sir.—The caroach there!—
When you have despatched, you shall find me at the
scrivener’s, where I shall receive the money.
G. CRES. She’ll devour that mass too.
L. CRES. How likest thou my power over him?
SAUN. Excellent.
L. CRES. This is the height of a great lady’s sway,
When her night-service makes her rule i' the day.
[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.[950]

_A hall in_ KNAVESBY’S _house_.

_Enter_ KNAVESBY.

KNA. Not yet, Sib? my lord keeps thee so long, thou’rt
welcome, I see then, and pays sweetly too: a good wench,
Sib, thou’rt, to obey thy husband. She’s come: a hundred
mark[951] a-year, how fine and easy it comes into mine
arms now!—

_Enter_ MISTRESS KNAVESBY.

Welcome home! what says my lord, Sib?
MIS. KNA. My lord says you are a cuckold!
KNA. Ha, ha, ha, ha! I thank him for that bob, i’faith;
I'll afford it him again at the same price a month
hence, and let the commodity grow as scarce as it will.
Cuckold, says his lordship? ha, ha! I shall burst my
sides with laughing, that’s the worst; name not a
hundred [a]-year, for then I burst.[952] It smarts not
so much as a fillip on the forehead by five parts: what
has his dalliance taken from thy lips? ’tis as sweet as
e’er’twas; let me try else; buss me, sugar-candy.
MIS. KNA. Forbear! you presume to a lord’s pleasure!
KNA. How’s that? not I, Sib.
MIS. KNA. Never touch me more;
I'll keep the noble stamp upon my lip,
No under baseness shall deface it now:
You taught me the way,
Now I am in, I'll keep it; I have kiss’d
Ambition, and I love it; I loathe the memory
Of every touch my lip hath tasted from thee.
KNA. Nay, but, sweet Sib, you do forget yourself.
MIS. KNA. I will forget all that I ever was,
And nourish new:[953] sirrah, I am a lady.
KNA. Lord bless us, madam!
MIS. KNA. I've enjoy’d a lord,
That’s real possession, and daily shall,
The which all ladies have not with their lords.
KNA. But, with your patience, madam, who was it that
preferred you to this ladyship?
MIS. KNA. ’Tis all I am beholding[954] to thee for;
Thou’st brought me out of ignorance into light:
Simple as I was, I thought thee a man,
[Un]till I found the difference by a man;
Thou art a beast, a hornèd beast, an ox!
KNA. Are these ladies' terms?
MIS. KNA. For thy pander’s fee,
It shall be laid under the candlestick;
Look for’t, I'll leave it for thee.
KNA. A little lower,
Good your ladyship, my cousin Camlet
Is in the house; let these things go no further.
MIS. KNA. ’Tis for mine own credit if I forbear, not
thine, thou bugle-browed[955] beast thou!

_Enter_ GEORGE _with rolls of paper in his hand_.

GEO. Bidden, bidden, bidden, bidden: so, all these are
past, but here’s as large a walk to come: if I do not
get it up at the feast, I shall be leaner for bidding
the guests, I'm sure.
KNA. How now? who’s this?
GEO. [_reads_] _Doctor Glister et_—what word’s this?
__fuxor__—O, _uxor_—the doctor and his wife—_Master Body
et uxor of Bow Lane, Master Knavesby et uxor_.
KNA. Ha! we are in, whatsoever the matter is.
GEO. Here’s forty couple more in this quarter; but
there, the provision bringing in, that puzzles me most.
[_Reads_] _One ox_,—that will hardly serve for beef
too;—_five muttons, ten lambs_,—poor innocents, they’ll
be devoured too!—_three gross of capons_——
KNA. Mercy upon us! what a slaughter-house is here!
GEO. [_reads_] _Two bushels of small birds, plovers,
snipes, woodcocks, partridge[s], larks_;—then for baked
meats——
KNA. George, George, what feast is this? ’tis not for
St. George’s day?
GEO. Cry you mercy, sir; you and your wife are in my
roll: my master invites you his guests to-morrow dinner.
KNA. Dinner, say’st thou? he means to feast a month
sure.
GEO. Nay, sir, you make up but a hundred couple.
KNA. Why, what ship has brought an India home to him,
that he’s so bountiful? or what friend dead—unknown to
us—has so much left to him of arable land, that he means
to turn to pasture thus?
GEO. Nay,’tis a vessel, sir; a good estate comes all in
one bottom to him, and ’tis a question whether ever he
find the bottom or no; a thousand a-year, that’s the
uppermost.
KNA. A thousand a-year!
GEO. To go no further about the bush, sir, now the
bird is caught, my master is to-morrow to be married,
and, amongst the rest, invites you a guest at his
wedding-dinner the second.
KNA. Married!
GEO. There is no other remedy for flesh and blood, that
will have leave to play, whether we will or no, or
wander into forbidden pastures.
KNA. Married! why, he is married, man; his wife is in my
house now; thy mistress is alive, George.
GEO. She that was, it may be, sir, but dead to him; she
played a little too rough with him, and he has discarded
her; he’s divorced, sir.
KNA. He divorced! then is her labour saved, for she was
labouring a divorce from him.
GEO. They are well parted then, sir.
KNA. But wilt thou not speak with her? i’faith, invite
her to’t.
GEO. ’Tis not in my commission, I dare not. Fare you
well, sir; I have much business in hand, and the time is
short.
KNA. Nay, but, George, I prithee, stay; may I report
this to her for a certain truth?
GEO. Wherefore am I employed in this invitation, sir?
KNA. Prithee, what is she his second choice?
GEO. Truly, a goodly presence, likely to bear great
children, and great store; she never saw five-and-thirty
summers together in her life by her appearance, and
comes in her French hood; by my fecks, a great match
’tis like to be: I am sorry for my old mistress, but
cannot help it. Pray you, excuse me now, sir; for all
the business goes through my hands, none employed but
myself. [_Exit._
KNA. Why, here is news that no man will believe but he
that sees.
MIS. KNA. This and your cuckoldry will be digestion
throughout the city-dinners and suppers for a month
together; there will need no cheese.
KNA. No more of that, Sib: I'll call my cousin Camlet,
and make her partaker of this sport.

_Enter_ MISTRESS WATER-CAMLET.

She’s come already.—Cousin, take’t at once, you’re a
free woman; your late husband’s to be married to-morrow.
MIS. W.-CAM. Married! to whom?
KNA. To a French hood, byrlakins,[956] as I understand;
great cheer prepared, and great guests invited; so far I
know.
MIS. W.-CAM. What a cursed wretch was I to pare my nails
to-day! a Friday too; I looked for some mischief.
KNA. Why, I did think this had accorded with your best
liking; you sought for him what he has sought for you, a
separation, and by divorce too.[957]
MIS. W.-CAM. I'll divorce ’em! is he to be married to a
French hood? I'll dress it the English fashion: ne’er a
coach to be had with six horses to strike fire i' the
streets as we go?
KNA. Will you go home then?
MIS. W.-CAM. Good cousin, help me to whet one of my
knives, while I sharp the other;[958] give me a sour
apple to set my teeth a’n edge; I would give five pound
for the paring of my nails again! have you e’er a
bird-spit i' the house? I'll dress one dish to the
wedding.
KNA. This violence hurts yourself the most.
MIS. W.-CAM. I care not who I hurt: O my heart, how it
beats a' both sides! Will you run with me for a wager
into Lombard Street now?
KNA. I'll walk with you, cousin, a sufficient pace; Sib
shall come softly after; I'll bring you thorough
Bearbinder Lane.
MIS. W.-CAM. Bearbinder Lane cannot hold me, I'll the
nearest way over St. Mildred’s church: if I meet any
French hoods by the way, I'll make black patches enow
for the rheum.
[_Exeunt._ MISTRESS WATER-CAMLET _and_
KNAVESBY.
MIS. KNA. So, ’tis to my wish. Master Knavesby,
Help to make peace abroad, here you’ll find wars;
I'll have a divorce too, with locks and bars. [_Exit._

SCENE III.

_A room in_ WATER-CAMLET’S _house_.

_Enter_ GEORGE _and_ MARGARITA.

GEO. Madam, but stay here a little, my master comes
instantly; I heard him say he did owe you a good turn,
and now’s the time to take it; I'll warrant you a sound
reward ere you go.
MAR. Ey tank u _de bon cœur, monsieur_.

_Enter_ WATER-CAMLET.

GEO. Look, he’s here already.—Now would a skilful
navigator take in his sails, for sure there is a storm
towards.[959] [_Aside, and exit._
W.-CAM.. O madam, I perceive in your countenance—
I am beholding[960] to you—all is peace?
MAR. All quiet, goor frendsheep; ey mooch a do, ey
strive wid him; give goor worda for you, no more speak a
de matra; all es undonne, u no more trobla.

_Enter behind_ MISTRESS WATER-CAMLET _and_ KNAVESBY.

W.-CAM. Look, there’s the price of a fair pair of
gloves,
And wear ’em for my sake. [_Gives money._
MIS. W.-CAM. O, O, O! my heart’s broke out of my ribs!
KNA. Nay, a little patience.
MAR. By tank u artely; shall no bestow en gloves, shall
put moosh more to dees, an bestow your shop: regarde
dees stofa, my petticote, u no soosh anodre; shall deal
wid u for moosh; take in your hand.
W.-CAM.. I see it, mistress, ’tis good stuff indeed, It
is a silk rash; I can pattern it.
MIS. W.-CAM. Shall he take up her coats before my face?
O beastly creature! [_Coming forward_] French hood,
French hood, I will make your hair grow thorough![961]
W.-CAM.. My wife return’d!—O, welcome home, sweet
Rachel!
MIS. W.-CAM. I forbid the banes,[962] lecher!—and,
strumpet, thou shalt bear children without noses!
MAR. O, _pardonnez-moi_; by my trat, ey mean u no hurta:
wat u meant by dees?
MIS. W.-CAM. I will have thine eyes out, and thy
bastards shall be as blind as puppies!
W.-CAM.. Sweet Rachel!—Good cousin, help to pacify.
MIS. W.-CAM. I forbid the banes, adulterer!
W.-CAM.. What means she by that, sir?
KNA. Good cousin, forbid your rage awhile; unless you
hear, by what sense will you receive satisfaction?
[_Restraining her._
MIS. W.-CAM. By my hands and my teeth, sir; give me
leave! will you bind me whiles mine enemy kills me?
W.-CAM.. Here all are your friends, sweet wife.
MIS. W.-CAM. Wilt have two wives? do, and be[963]
hanged, fornicator! I forbid the banes: give me the
French hood, I'll tread it under feet in a pair of
pantofles.[964]
MAR. Begar, shall save hood, head, and all; shall come
no more heer, ey warran u. [_Exit._
KNA. Sir, the truth is, report spoke it for truth
You were to-morrow to be marrièd.
MIS. W.-CAM. I forbid the banes!
W.-CAM. Mercy deliver me!
If my grave embrace me in the bed of death,
I would to church with willing ceremony;
But for my wedlock-fellow, here she is,
The first and last that e’er my thoughts look’d on.
KNA. Why, la, you, cousin, this was nought but error,
Or an assault of mischief.
W.-CAM.. Whose report was it?
KNA. Your man George’s, who invited me to the wedding.
W.-CAM.. George! and was he sober? good sir, call him.

_Enter_ GEORGE.
GEO. It needs not, sir, I am here already.
W.-CAM.. Did you report this, George?
GEO. Yes, sir, I did.
W.-CAM.. And wherefore did you so?
GEO. For a new suit that you promised me, sir, if I
could bring home my mistress; and I think she’s come,
with a mischief.
MIS. W.-CAM. Give me that villain’s ears!
GEO. I would give ear, if I could hear you talk wisely.
MIS. W.-CAM. Let me cut off his ears!
GEO. I shall hear worse of you hereafter then; limb for
limb, one of my ears for one of your tongues, and I'll
lay out for my master.
W.-CAM..’Twas knavery with a good purpose in it:
Sweet Rachel, this was even George’s meaning,
A second marriage ’twixt thyself and me;
And now I woo thee to’t; a quiet night
Will make the sun, like a fresh bridegroom, rise
And kiss the chaste cheek of the rosy morn;
Which we will imitate, and, like him, create
Fresh buds of love, fresh-spreading arms, fresh fruit,
Fresh wedding-robes, and George’s fresh new suit.
MIS. W.-CAM. This is fine stuff; have you much on’t to
sell?
GEO. A remnant of a yard.
W.-CAM. Come, come, all’s well.—
Sir, you must sup, instead of to-morrow’s dinner.
KNA. I follow you. [_Exeunt all except_ KNAVESBY.]—No,
’tis another way;
My lord’s reward calls me to better cheer,
Many good meals, a hundred marks a-year:
My wife’s transform’d a lady; tush, she’ll come
To her shape again: my lord rides the circuit;
If I ride along with him, what need I grutch?[965]
I can as easy sit, and speed as much. [_Exit._