Chapter V: Act IV: Scene I

_A room in_ YELLOWHAMMER’S _house_.

_Enter_ TIM _and Tutor_.

TIM. _Negatur argumentum_, tutor.
TUTOR. _Probo tibi_, pupil, _stultus non est animal
rationale_.
TIM. _Falleris sane._
TUTOR. _Quæso ut taceas_,—_probo tibi_——
TIM. _Quomodo probas, domine?_
TUTOR. _Stultus non habet rationem, ergo non est animal
rationale._
TIM. _Sic argumentaris, domine; stultus non habet
rationem, ergo non est animal rationale: negatur
argumentum_ again, tutor.
TUTOR. _Argumentum iterum probo tibi, domine; qui non
participat de ratione, nullo modo potest vocari
rationalis_;[104] but _stultus non participat de
ratione, ergo stultus nullo modo potest dici[105]
rationalis_.
TIM. _Participat._
TUTOR. _Sic disputas; qui participat, quomodo
participat?_
TIM. _Ut homo, probabo tibi in syllogismo._
TUTOR. _Hunc proba._
TIM. _Sic probo, domine; stultus est homo, sicut tu et
ego sum[us]; homo est animal rationale, sicut stultus
est animal rationale._

_Enter_ MAUDLIN.

MAUD. Here’s nothing but disputing all the day long
with ’em!
TUTOR. _Sic disputas; stultus est homo, sicut tu et ego
sum[us]; homo est animal rationale, sicut stultus est
animal rationale._
MAUD. Your reasons are both good, whate’er they be,
Pray, give them over; faith, you’ll tire yourselves;
What’s the matter between you?
TIM. Nothing but reasoning
About a fool, mother.
MAUD. About a fool, son?
Alas, what need you trouble your heads ’bout that!
None of us all but knows what a fool is.
TIM. Why, what’s a fool, mother? I come to you now.
MAUD. Why, one that’s married before he has wit.
TIM. ’Tis pretty, i’faith, and well guessed of a woman
never brought up at the university; but bring forth
what fool you will, mother, I'll prove him to be as
reasonable a creature as myself or my tutor here.
MAUD. Fie, ’tis impossible!
TUTOR. Nay, he shall do’t, forsooth.
TIM. ’Tis the easiest thing to prove a fool by logic;
By logic I'll prove any thing.
MAUD. What, thou wilt not?
TIM. I'll prove a whore to be an honest woman.
MAUD. Nay, by my faith, she must prove that herself,
Or logic will ne’er do’t.
TIM. ’Twill do’t, I tell you.
MAUD. Some in this street would give a thousand pounds
That you could prove their wives so.
TIM. Faith, I can,
And all their daughters too, though they had three
bastards.
When comes your tailor hither?
MAUD. Why, what of him?
TIM. By logic I'll prove him to be a man,
Let him come when he will.
MAUD. How hard at first
Was learning to him! truly, sir, I thought
He would never ’a took the Latin tongue:
How many accidences do you think he wore out
Ere he came to his grammar?
TUTOR. Some three or four.
MAUD. Believe me, sir, some four and thirty.
TIM. Pish, I made haberdines[106] of ’em in
church-porches.
MAUD. He was eight years in his grammar, and stuck
horribly
At a foolish place there, call’d _as in præsenti_.
TIM. Pox, I have it here now.
MAUD. He so sham’d me once,
Before an honest gentleman that knew me
When I was a maid.
TIM. These women must have all out!
MAUD. _Quid est grammatica?_ says the gentleman to
him,—
I shall remember by a sweet, sweet token,—
But nothing could he answer.
TUTOR. How now, pupil, ha?
_Quid est grammatica?_
TIM. _Grammatica?_ ha, ha, ha!
MAUD. Nay, do not laugh, son, but let me hear you
say’t now:
There was one word went so prettily off
The gentleman’s tongue, I shall remember it
The longest day of my life.
TUTOR. Come, _quid est grammatica_?
TIM. Are you not asham’d, tutor, _grammatica_?
Why, _recte scribendi atque loquendi ars_,
Sir-reverence[107] of my mother.
MAUD. That was it, i’faith: why now, son,
I see you’re a deep scholar:—and, master tutor,
A word, I pray; let us withdraw a little
Into my husband’s chamber; I'll send in
The North Wales gentlewoman to him, she looks for
wooing:
I'll put together both, and lock the door.
TUTOR. I give great approbation to your conclusion.
[_Exeunt_ MAUDLIN _and Tutor_.
TIM. I mar’l[108] what this gentlewoman should be
That I should have in marriage; she’s a stranger to me;
I wonder what my parents mean, i’faith,
To match me with a stranger so,
A maid that’s neither kiff nor kin[109] to me:
'Life, do they think I've no more care of my body
Than to lie with one that I ne’er knew, a mere stranger,
One that ne’er went to school with me neither,
Nor ever play-fellows together?
They’re mightily o’erseen in it, methinks.
They say she has mountains to her marriage,
She’s full of cattle, some two thousand runts:
Now, what the meaning of these runts[110] should be,
My tutor cannot tell me; I have look’d
In Rider’s Dictionary[111] for the letter R,
And there I can hear no tidings of these runts neither;
Unless they should be Romford hogs, I know them not.

_Enter Welshwoman._

And here she comes. If I know what to say to her now
In the way of marriage, I'm no graduate:
Methinks, i’faith, ’tis boldly done of her
To come into my chamber, being but a stranger;
She shall not say I am so proud yet but
I'll speak to her: marry, as I will order it,
She shall take no hold of my words, I'll warrant her.
[_Welshwoman curtsies._

She looks and makes a curtsy.—

_Salve tu quoque, puella pulcherrima; quid vis nescio
nec sane curo_,—

Tully’s own phrase to a heart.
WELSH. I know not what he means: a suitor, quoth’a?
I hold my life he understands no English. [_Aside._
TIM. _Fertur, mehercule, tu virgo,[112] Walliâ ut
opibus abundas maximis._
WELSH. What’s this _fertur_ and _abundundis_?
He mocks me sure, and calls me a bundle of farts.
TIM. I have no Latin word now for their runts;
I'll make some shift or other: [_Aside._
_Iterum dico, opibus abundas maximis, montibus, et
fontibus, et ut ita dicam rontibus; attamen vero
homunculus ego sum natura, simul et arte baccalaureus,
lecto profecto non parato._[113]
WELSH. This is most strange: may be he can speak Welsh.—
_Avedera whee comrage, der due cog foginis._
TIM. _Cog foggin?_ I scorn to cog[114] with her; I'll
tell her so too in a word near her own language.—_Ego
non cogo._
WELSH. _Rhegosin a whiggin harle ron corid ambro._
TIM. By my faith, she’s a good scholar, I see that
already;
She has the tongues plain; I hold my life sh’as
travell’d:
What will folks say? there goes the learned couple!
Faith, if the truth were known, she hath proceeded.[115]

_Re-enter_ MAUDLIN.

MAUD. How now? how speeds your business?
TIM. I'm glad
My mother’s come to part us. [_Aside._
MAUD. How do you agree, forsooth?
WELSH. As well as e’er we did before we met.
MAUD. How’s that?
WELSH. You put me to a man I understand not;
Your son’s no Englishman, methinks.
MAUD. No Englishman?
Bless my boy, and born i' the heart of London!
WELSH. I ha' been long enough in the chamber with him,
And I find neither Welsh nor English in him.
MAUD. Why, Tim, how have you us’d the gentlewoman?
TIM. As well as a man might do, mother, in modest Latin.
MAUD. Latin, fool?
TIM. And she recoil’d in Hebrew.
MAUD. In Hebrew, fool? ’tis Welsh.
TIM. All comes to one, mother.
MAUD. She can speak English too.
TIM. Who told me so much?
Heart, and[116] she can speak English, I'll clap to her;
I thought you’d marry me to a stranger.
MAUD. You must forgive him; he’s so inur’d to Latin
He and his tutor, that he hath quite forgot
To use the Protestant tongue.
WELSH. ’Tis quickly pardon’d, forsooth.
MAUD. Tim, make amends and kiss her.—
He makes towards you, forsooth.
TIM. O delicious!
One may discover her country by her kissing:
’Tis a true saying, there’s nothing tastes so sweet
As your Welsh mutton.—’Twas reported you could sing.
MAUD. O rarely, Tim, the sweetest British songs!
TIM. And ’tis my mind, I swear, before I marry,
I would see all my wife’s good parts at once,
To view how rich I were.
MAUD. Thou shalt hear sweet music, Tim.—
Pray, forsooth.
WELSH. [_sings_][117]

_Cupid[118] is Venus' only joy,
But he is a wanton boy,
A very, very wanton boy;
He shoots at ladies' naked breasts,
He is the cause of most men’s crests,
I mean upon the forehead,
Invisible but horrid;
’Twas he first thought[119] upon the way
To keep a lady’s lips in play._

_Why should not Venus chide her son
For the pranks that he hath done,
The wanton pranks that he hath done?
He shoots his fiery darts so thick,
They hurt poor ladies to the quick,
Ah me, with cruel wounding!
His darts are so confounding,
That life and sense would soon decay,
But that he keeps their lips in play._

_Can there be any part of bliss
In a quickly fleeting kiss,
A quickly fleeting kiss?
To one’s pleasure leisures are but waste,
The slowest kiss makes too much haste,
And lose it[120] ere we find it:
The pleasing sport they only know
That close above and close below._
TIM. I would not change my wife for a kingdom:
I can do somewhat[121] too in my own lodging.

_Enter_ YELLOWHAMMER _and_ ALLWIT.

YEL. Why, well said, Tim! the bells go merrily;
I love such peals a' life.[122]—Wife, lead them in
awhile;
Here’s a strange gentleman desires private conference.—
[_Exeunt_ MAUDLIN, _Welshwoman_, _and_ TIM.
You’re welcome, sir, the more for your name’s sake,
Good master Yellowhammer; I love my name well:
And which a' the Yellowhammers take you descent from,
If I may be so bold with you? which, I pray?
ALLWIT. The Yellowhammers in Oxfordshire, near
Abingdon.
YEL. And those are the best Yellowhammers, and truest
bred;
I came from thence myself, though now a citizen:
I will be bold with you; you are most welcome.
ALLWIT. I hope the zeal I bring with me shall deserve
it.
YEL. I hope no less: what is your will, sir?
ALLWIT. I understand, by rumours, you’ve a daughter,
Which my bold love shall henceforth title cousin.
YEL. I thank you for her, sir.
ALLWIT. I heard of her virtues
And other confirm’d graces.
YEL. A plaguy girl, sir!
ALLWIT. Fame sets her out with richer ornaments
Than you are pleas’d to boast of; ’tis done modestly:
I hear she’s towards marriage.
YEL. You hear truth, sir.
ALLWIT. And with a knight in town, sir Walter
Whorehound.
YEL. The very same, sir.
ALLWIT. I'm the sorrier for’t.
YEL. The sorrier? why, cousin?
ALLWIT. ’Tis not too far past, is’t?
It may be yet recall’d?
YEL. Recall’d! why, good sir?
ALLWIT. Resolve[123] me in that point, ye shall hear
from me.
YEL. There’s no contract past.
ALLWIT. I'm very joyful, sir.
YEL. But he’s the man must bed her.
ALLWIT. By no means, coz;
She’s quite undone then, and you’ll curse the time
That e’er you made the match; he’s an arrant
whoremaster,
Consumes his time and state——[124]
Whom in my knowledge he hath kept this seven years;
Nay, coz, another man’s wife too.
YEL. O, abominable!
ALLWIT. Maintains the whole house, apparels the
husband,
Pays servants' wages, not so much, but——[125]
YEL. Worse and worse; and doth the husband know this?
ALLWIT. Knows? ay, and glad he may too, ’tis his
living;
As other trades thrive, butchers by selling flesh,
Poulters by vending conies,[126] or the like, coz.
YEL. What an incomparable wittol’s[127] this!
ALLWIT. Tush, what cares he for that? believe me, coz,
No more than I do.
YEL. What a base slave’s that!
ALLWIT. All’s one to him; he feeds and takes his ease,
Was ne’er the man that ever broke his sleep
To get a child yet, by his own confession,
And yet his wife has seven.
YEL. What, by sir Walter?
ALLWIT. Sir Walter’s like to keep ’em and maintain ’em
In excellent fashion; he dares do no less, sir.
YEL. ’Life, has he children too?
ALLWIT. Children! boys thus high,
In their Cato[128] and Corderius.[129]
YEL. What? you jest, sir!
ALLWIT. Why, one can make a verse, and’s now at Eton
College.
YEL. O, this news has cut into my heart, coz!
ALLWIT. ’Thad eaten nearer, if it had not been
prevented:
One Allwit’s wife.
YEL. Allwit! ’foot, I have heard of him;
He had a girl kursen’d[130] lately?
ALLWIT. Ay, that work
Did cost the knight above a hundred mark.[131]
YEL. I'll mark him for a knave and villain for’t;
A thousand thanks and blessings! I have done with him.
ALLWIT. Ha, ha, ha! this knight will stick by my ribs
still;
I shall not lose him yet; no wife will come;
Where’er he woos, I find him still at home:
Ha, ha! [_Aside, and exit._
YEL. Well, grant all this, say now his deeds are
black,
Pray, what serves marriage but to call him back?
I've kept a whore myself, and had a bastard
By mistress Anne, in _anno_ ——[132]
I care not who knows it; he’s now a jolly fellow,
Has been twice warden; so may his fruit be,
They were but base begot, and so was he.
The knight is rich, he shall be my son-in-law;
No matter, so the whore he keeps be wholesome,
My daughter takes no hurt then; so let them wed:
I'll have him sweat well ere they go to bed.

_Re-enter_ MAUDLIN.

MAUD. O husband, husband!
YEL. How now, Maudlin?
MAUD. We are all undone; she’s gone, she’s gone!
YEL. Again? death, which way?
MAUD. Over the houses: lay[133] the water-side,
She’s gone for ever else.
YEL. O venturous baggage! [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_Another room in_ YELLOWHAMMER’S _house_.

_Enter_ TIM _and Tutor severally_.

TIM. Thieves, thieves! my sister’s stoln! some thief
hath got her:
O how miraculously did my father’s plate ’scape!
’Twas all left out, tutor.
TUTOR. Is’t possible?
TIM. Besides three chains of pearl and a box of coral.
My sister’s gone; let’s look at Trig-stairs for her;
My mother’s gone to lay the common stairs
At Puddle-wharf; and at the dock below
Stands my poor silly father; run, sweet tutor, run!
[_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_A street by the Thames._

_Enter_ TOUCHWOOD _senior and_ TOUCHWOOD _junior_.

TOUCH. SEN. I had been taken, brother, by eight
sergeants,
But for the honest watermen; I'm bound to them;
They are the most requitefull’st people living,
For as they get their means by gentlemen,
They’re still the forwardest to help gentlemen:
You heard how one ’scap’d out of the Blackfriars,[134]
But a while since, from two or three varlets came
Into the house with all their rapiers drawn,
As if they’d dance the sword-dance on the stage,
With candles in their hands, like chandlers' ghosts;
Whilst the poor gentleman so pursu’d and banded,
Was by an honest pair of oars safely landed.
TOUCH. JUN. I love them with my heart for’t!

_Enter several Watermen._

FIRST W. Your first man, sir.
SEC. W. Shall I carry you, gentlemen, with a pair of
oars?
TOUCH. SEN. These be the honest fellows: take one
pair,
And leave the rest for her.
TOUCH. JUN. Barn Elms.
TOUCH. SEN. No more, brother. [_Exit._
FIRST W. Your first man.
SEC. W. Shall I carry your worship?
TOUCH. JUN. Go; and you honest watermen that stay,
Here’s a French crown for you [_gives money_]: there
comes a maid
With all speed to take water, row her lustily
To Barn Elms after me.
SEC. W. To Barn Elms, good, sir.—
Make ready the boat, Sam; we’ll wait below.
[_Exeunt Watermen._

_Enter_ MOLL.

TOUCH. JUN. What made you stay so long?
MOLL. I found the way more dangerous than I look’d
for.
TOUCH. JUN. Away, quick; there’s a boat waits for you;
and I'll
Take water at Paul’s wharf, and overtake you.
MOLL. Good sir, do; we cannot be too safe.
[_Exeunt._

_Enter_ SIR WALTER WHOREHOUND, YELLOWHAMMER, TIM, _and
Tutor_.

SIR WAL. Life, call you this close keeping?
YEL. She was kept
Under a double lock.
SIR WAL. A double devil!
TIM. That’s a buff sergeant, tutor; he’ll ne’er wear
out.
YEL. How would you have women lock’d?
TIM. With padlocks, father;
The Venetian uses it; my tutor reads it.
SIR WAL. Heart, if she were so lock’d up, how got she
out?
YEL. There was a little hole look’d into the gutter;
But who would have dreamt of that?
SIR WAL. A wiser man would.
TIM. He says true, father; a wise man for love
Will seek every hole; my tutor knows it.
TUTOR. _Verum poeta dicit._
TIM. _Dicit Virgilius_, father.
YEL. Prithee, talk of thy gills somewhere else; sh’as
play’d
The gill[135] with me: where’s your wise mother now?
TIM. Run mad, I think; I thought she would have
drown’d herself;
She would not stay for oars, but took a smelt-boat;
Sure I think she be gone a-fishing for her.
YEL. She’ll catch a goodly dish of gudgeons now,
Will serve us all to supper.

_Enter_ MAUDLIN _drawing in_ MOLL _by the hair, and
Watermen_.

MAUD. I'll tug thee home by the hair.
FIRST W. Good mistress, spare her!
MAUD. Tend your own business.
FIRST W. You’re a cruel mother. [_Exeunt Watermen._
MOLL. O, my heart dies!
MAUD. I'll make thee an example
For all the neighbours' daughters.
MOLL. Farewell, life!
MAUD. You that have tricks can counterfeit.
YEL. Hold, hold, Maudlin!
MAUD. I've brought your jewel by the hair.
YEL. She’s here, knight.
SIR WAL. Forbear, or I'll grow worse.
TIM. Look on her, tutor;
She hath brought her from the water like a mermaid;
She’s but half my sister now, as far as the flesh goes,
The rest may be sold to fish-wives.
MAUD. Dissembling, cunning baggage!
YEL. Impudent strumpet!
Sir Wal. Either give over, both, or I'll give over.—
Why have you us’d me thus unkind[ly], mistress?
Wherein have I deserv’d?
YEL. You talk too fondly, sir:
We’ll take another course and prevent all;
We might have done’t long since; we’ll lose no time now,
Nor trust to’t any longer: to-morrow morn,
As early as sunrise, we’ll have you join’d.
MOLL. O, bring me death to-night, love-pitying fates;
Let me not see to-morrow up on[136] the world!
YEL. Are you content, sir? till then she shall be
watch’d.
MAUD. Baggage, you shall.
TIM. Why, father, my tutor and I
Will both watch in armour.
[_Exeunt_ MAUDLIN, MOLL, _and_ YELLOWHAMMER.
TUTOR. How shall we do for weapons?
TIM. Take you
No care for that; if need be, I can send
For conquering metal, tutor, ne’er lost day yet,
’Tis but at Westminster; I am acquainted
With him that keeps the monuments; I can borrow
Harry the Fifth’s sword; it will serve us both
To watch with. [_Exeunt_ TIM _and Tutor_.
SIR WAL. I never was so near my wish
As this chance makes me: ere to-morrow noon
I shall receive two thousand pound in gold,
And a sweet maidenhead worth forty.

_Re-enter_ TOUCHWOOD _junior and Waterman_.

TOUCH. JUN. O, thy news splits me!
WATER. Half-drown’d, she cruelly tugg’d her by the
hair,
Forc’d her disgracefully, not like a mother.
TOUCH. JUN. Enough; leave me, like my joys.—
[_Exit Waterman._
Sir, saw you not a wretched maid pass this way?
Heart, villain, is it thou?
SIR WAL. Yes, slave, ’tis I.
TOUCH. JUN. I must break through thee then: there is
no stop
That checks my tongue[137] and all my hopeful fortunes,
That breast excepted, and I must have way.
SIR WAL. Sir, I believe ’twill hold your life in play.
TOUCH. JUN. Sir, you will gain the heart in my breast
first.[138]
SIR WAL. There is no dealing then; think on the dowry
For two thousand pounds. [_They fight._
TOUCH. JUN. O, now ’tis quit, sir.
SIR WAL. And being of even hand, I'll play no longer.
TOUCH. JUN. No longer, slave?
SIR WAL. I've certain things to think on,
Before I dare go further.
TOUCH. JUN. But one bout!
I'll follow thee to death, but ha' it out. [_Exeunt._