Chapter VI: Act V: Scene I

_A room in_ ALLWIT’S _house_.

_Enter_ ALLWIT, MISTRESS ALLWIT, _and_ DAVY.

MIS. ALL. A misery of a house!
ALLWIT. What shall become of us!
DAVY. I think his wound be mortal.
ALLWIT. Think’st thou so, Davy?
Then am I mortal too, but a dead man, Davy;
This is no world for me, whene’er he goes;
I must e’en truss up all, and after him, Davy;
A sheet with two knots, and away.
DAVY. O see, sir!

_Enter_ SIR WALTER WHOREHOUND _led in by two Servants,
who place him in a chair_.

How faint he goes! two of my fellows lead him.
MIS. ALL. O me! [_Swoons._
ALLWIT. Heyday, my wife’s laid down too; here’s like
to be
A good house kept, when we’re all together down:
Take pains with her, good Davy, cheer her up there;
Let me come to his worship, let me come.
SIR WAL. Touch me not, villain! my wound aches at
thee,
Thou poison to my heart!
ALLWIT. He raves already;
His senses are quite gone, he knows me not.—
Look up, an’t like your worship; heave those eyes,
Call me to mind; is your remembrance left?
Look in my face; who am I, an’t like your worship?
SIR WAL. If any thing be worse than slave or villain,
Thou art the man!
ALLWIT. Alas, his poor worship’s weakness!
He will begin to know me by little and little.
SIR WAL. No devil can be like thee!
ALLWIT. Ah, poor gentleman,
Methinks the pain that thou endurest [mads thee].
SIR WAL. Thou know’st me to be wicked; for thy
baseness
Kept the eyes open still on all my sins;
None knew the dear account my soul stood charg’d with
So well as thou, yet, like hell’s flattering angel,
Wouldst never tell me on’t, lett’st me go on,
And join with death in sleep; that if I had not
Wak’d now by chance, even by a stranger’s pity,
I had everlastingly slept out all hope
Of grace and mercy.
ALLWIT. Now he’s worse and worse.
Wife, to him, wife; thou wast wont to do good on him.
MIS. ALL. How is it with you, sir?
SIR WAL. Not as with you,
Thou loathsome strumpet! Some good, pitying man,
Remove my sins out of my sight a little;
I tremble to behold her, she keeps back
All comfort while she stays. Is this a time,
Unconscionable woman, to see thee?
Art thou so cruel to the peace of man,
Not to give liberty now? the devil himself
Shews a far fairer reverence and respect
To goodness than thyself; he dares not do this,
But part[s] in time of penitence, hides his face;
When man withdraws from him, he leaves the place:
Hast thou less manners and more impudence
Than thy instructor? prithee, shew thy modesty,
If the least grain be left, and get thee from me:
Thou shouldst be rather lock’d many rooms hence
From the poor miserable sight of me,
If either love or grace had part in thee.
MIS. ALL. He’s lost for ever! [_Aside._
ALLWIT. Run, sweet Davy, quickly,
And fetch the children hither; sight of them
Will make him cheerful straight. [_Exit_ DAVY.
SIR WAL. O death! is this
A place for you to weep? what tears are those!
Get you away with them, I shall fare the worse
As long as they’re a-weeping, they work against me;
There’s nothing but thy appetite in that sorrow,
Thou weep’st for lust; I feel it in the slackness
Of comforts coming towards me; I was well
Till thou begann’st t' undo me: this shews like
The fruitless sorrow of a careless mother,
That brings her son with dalliance to the gallows,
And then stands by and weeps to see him suffer.

_Re-enter_ DAVY _with_ NICK, WAT, _and other children_.

DAVY. There are the children, sir, an’t like your
worship,
Your last fine girl; in troth, she smiles;[139]
Look, look, in faith, sir.
SIR WAL. O my vengeance!
Let me for ever hide my cursed face
From sight of those that darken[140] all my hopes,
And stand[141] between me and the sight of heaven!
Who sees me now, O too,[142] and those so near me,
May rightly say I am o’ergrown with sin.
O, how my offences wrestle with my repentance!
It hath scarce breath;
Still my adulterous guilt hovers aloft,
And with her black wings beats down all my prayers
Ere they be half-way up. What’s he knows now
How long I have to live? O, what comes then?
My taste grows bitter; the round world all gall now;
Her pleasing pleasures now have[143] poison’d me,
Which I exchang’d my soul for:
Make way a hundred sighs at once for me!
ALLWIT. Speak to him, Nick.
NICK. I dare not, I'm afraid.
ALLWIT. Tell him he hurts his wounds, Wat, with making
moan.
SIR WAL. Wretched, death of seven![144]
ALLWIT. Come, let’s be talking
Somewhat to keep him alive. Ah, sirrah Wat,
And did my lord bestow that jewel on thee
For an epistle thou mad’st in Latin? thou
Art a good forward boy, there’s great joy on thee.
SIR WAL. O sorrow!
ALLWIT. Heart, will nothing comfort him?
If he be so far gone, ’tis time to moan. [_Aside._
Here’s pen and ink, and paper, and all things ready;
Will’t please your worship for to make your will?
SIR WAL. My will! yes, yes, what else? who writes
apace now?
ALLWIT. That can your man Davy, an’t like your
worship;
A fair, fast, legible hand.
SIR WAL. Set it down then. [DAVY _writes_.
_Imprimis_, I bequeath to yonder wittol[145]
Three times his weight in curses.
ALLWIT. How!
SIR WAL. All plagues
Of body and of mind.
ALLWIT. Write them not down, Davy.
DAVY. It is his will; I must.
SIR WAL. Together also
With such a sickness ten days ere his death.
ALLWIT. There’s a sweet legacy! I'm almost chok’d
with’t. [_Aside._
SIR WAL. Next, I bequeath to that foul whore his wife
All barrenness of joy, a drouth of virtue,
And dearth of all repentance: for her end,
The common misery of an English strumpet,
In French and Dutch; beholding, ere she dies,
Confusion of her brats before her eyes,
And never shed a tear for’t.

_Enter third Servant._

THIRD SER. Where’s the knight?—
O sir, the gentleman you wounded is
Newly departed!
SIR WAL. Dead? lift, lift, who helps me?
ALLWIT. Let the law lift you now, that must have all;
I have done lifting on you, and my wife too.
THIRD SER. You were best lock yourself close.
ALLWIT. Not in my house, sir;
I'll harbour no such persons as men-slayers;
Lock yourself where you will.
SIR WAL. What’s this?
MIS. ALL. Why, husband!
ALLWIT. I know what I do, wife.
MIS. ALL. You cannot tell yet;
For having kill’d the man in his defence,
Neither his life nor estate will be touch’d, husband.
ALLWIT. Away, wife! hear a fool! his lands will hang
him.
SIR WAL. Am I denied a chamber?—What say you,
forsooth?
MIS. ALL. Alas, sir, I am one that would have all
well,
But must obey my husband.—Prithee, love,
Let the poor gentleman stay, being so sore wounded:
There’s a close chamber at one end of the garret
We never use; let him have that, I prithee.
ALLWIT. We never use? you forget sickness then,
And physic-times; is’t not a place for easement?
SIR WAL. O, death! do I hear this with part[146]
Of former life in me?—

_Enter Fourth Servant._

What’s the news now?
FOURTH SER. Troth, worse and worse; you’re like to
lose your land,
If the law save your life, sir, or the surgeon.
ALLWIT. Hark you there, wife.
SIR WAL. Why, how, sir?
FOURTH SER. Sir Oliver Kix’s wife is new quicken’d;
That child undoes you, sir.
SIR WAL. All ill at once!
ALLWIT. I wonder what he makes here with his consorts?
Cannot our house be private to ourselves,
But we must have such guests? I pray, depart, sirs,
And take your murderer along with you;
Good he were apprehended ere he go,
Has kill’d some honest gentleman; send for officers.
SIR WAL. I'll soon save you that labour.
ALLWIT. I must tell you, sir,
You have been somewhat bolder in my house
Than I could well like of; I suffer’d you
Till it stuck here at my heart; I tell you truly
I thought y’had been familiar with my wife once.
MIS. ALL. With me! I'll see him hang’d first; I defy
him,
And all such gentlemen in the like extremity.
SIR WAL. If ever eyes were open, these are they:
Gamesters, farewell, I've nothing left to play.
ALLWIT. And therefore get you gone, sir.
[_Exit_ SIR WALTER, _led off by Servants_.
DAVY. Of all wittols[147]
Be thou the head—thou the grand whore of spittles!
[_Exit._
ALLWIT. So, since he’s like now to be rid of all,
I am right glad I'm so well rid of him.
MIS. ALL. I knew he durst not stay when you nam’d
officers.
ALLWIT. That stopp’d his spirits straight. What shall
we do now, wife?
MIS. ALL. As we were wont to do.
ALLWIT. We’re richly furnish’d, wife,
With household stuff.
MIS. ALL. Let’s let out lodgings then,
And take a house in the Strand.
ALLWIT. In troth, a match, wench:
We’re simply stock’d with cloth-of-tissue cushions
To furnish out bay-windows; push,[148] what not
That’s quaint and costly, from the top to the bottom;
Life, for furniture we may lodge a countess:
There’s a close-stool of tawny velvet too,
Now I think on it, wife.
MIS. ALL. There’s that should be, sir;
Your nose must be in every thing.
ALLWIT. I've done, wench;
And let this stand in every gallant’s chamber,—
There is no gamester like a politic sinner,
For whoe’er games, the box is sure a winner.
[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_A room in_ YELLOWHAMMER’S _house_.

_Enter_ YELLOWHAMMER _and_ MAUDLIN.

MAUD. O husband, husband, she will die, she will die!
There is no sign but death.
YEL. ’Twill be our shame then.
MAUD. O, how she’s chang’d in compass of an hour!
YEL. Ah, my poor girl! good faith, thou wert too cruel
To drag her by the hair.
MAUD. You’d have done as much, sir,
To curb her of her humour.
YEL. ’Tis curb’d sweetly;
She catch’d her bane o' th' water.

_Enter_ TIM.

MAUD. How now, Tim?
TIM. Faith, busy, mother, about an epitaph
Upon my sister’s death.
MAUD. Death? she’s not dead, I hope?
TIM. No, but she means to be, and that’s as good,
And when a thing’s done, ’tis done; you taught me[149]
that, mother.
YEL. What is your tutor doing?
TIM. Making one too, in principal pure Latin,
Cull’d out of Ovid[150] _de Tristibus_.
YEL. How does your sister look? is she not chang’d?
TIM. Chang’d? gold into white money was ne’er so
chang’d
As is my sister’s colour into paleness.

_Enter_ MOLL, _led in by Servants, who place her in a
chair_.

YEL. O, here she’s brought; see how she looks like
death!
TIM. Looks she like death, and ne’er a word made yet?
I must go beat my brains against a bed-post,
And get before my tutor. [_Exit._
YEL. Speak, how dost thou?
MOL. I hope I shall be well, for I'm as sick
At heart as I can be.
YEL. ’Las, my poor girl!
The doctor’s making a most sovereign drink for thee,
The worst ingredience dissolv’d pearl and amber;
We spare no cost, girl.
MOLL. Your love comes too late,
Yet timely thanks reward it. What is comfort,
When the poor patient’s heart is past relief?
It is no doctor’s art can cure my grief.
YEL. All is cast away, then;
[I] prithee, look upon me cheerfully.
MAUD. Sing but a strain or two; thou wilt not think
How ’twill revive thy spirits: strive with thy fit,
Prithee, sweet Moll.
MOLL. You shall have my good will, mother.
MAUD. Why, well said, wench.
MOLL. [_sings_]

_Weep eyes, break heart!
My love and I must part.
Cruel fates true love do soonest sever:
O, I shall see thee never, never, never!
O, happy is the maid whose life takes end
Ere it knows parent’s frown or loss of friend!
Weep eyes, break heart!
My love and I must part._

MAUD. O, I could die with music!—Well sung, girl.
MOLL. If you call’t so, it was.
YEL. She plays the swan,
And sings herself to death.

_Enter_ TOUCHWOOD _senior_.

TOUCH. SEN. By your leave, sir.
YEL. What are you, sir? or what’s your business, pray?
TOUCH. SEN. I may be now admitted, though the brother
Of him your hate pursu’d: it spreads no further;
Your malice sets in death, does it not, sir?
YEL. In death?
TOUCH. SEN. He’s dead: ’twas a dear love to him,
It cost him but his life, that was all, sir;
He paid enough, poor gentleman, for his love.
YEL. There’s all our ill remov’d, if she were well
now.— [_Aside._
Impute not, sir, his end to any hate
That sprung from us; he had a fair wound brought that.
TOUCH. SEN. That help’d him forward, I must needs
confess;
But the restraint of love, and your unkindness,
Those were the wounds that from his heart drew blood;
But being past help, let words forget it too:
Scarcely three minutes ere his eyelids clos’d,
And took eternal leave of this world’s light,
He wrote this letter, which by oath he bound me
To give to her own hands; that’s all my business.
YEL. You may perform it then; there she sits.
TOUCH. SEN. O, with a following look!
YEL. Ay, trust me, sir,
I think she’ll follow him quickly.
TOUCH. SEN. Here’s some gold
He will’d me to distribute faithfully
Amongst your servants. [_Gives gold to Servants._
YEL. ’Las, what doth he mean, sir?
TOUCH. SEN. How cheer you, mistress?
MOLL. I must learn of you, sir.
TOUCH. SEN. Here is a letter from a friend of yours,
[_Giving letter to_ MOLL.
And where that fails in satisfaction,
I have a sad tongue ready to supply.
MOLL. How does he, ere I look on’t?
TOUCH. SEN. Seldom better;
Has a contented health now.
MOLL. I'm most glad on’t.
MAUD. Dead, sir?
YEL. He is: now, wife, let’s but get the girl
Upon her legs again, and to church roundly with her.
MOLL. O, sick to death, he tells me: how does he after
this?
TOUCH. SEN. Faith, feels no pain at all; he’s dead,
sweet mistress.
MOLL. Peace close mine eyes! [_Swoons._
YEL. The girl! look to the girl, wife!
MAUD. Moll, daughter, sweet girl, speak! look but once
up,
Thou shalt have all the wishes of thy heart
That wealth can purchase!
YEL. O, she’s gone for ever!
That letter broke her heart.
TOUCH. SEN. As good now then
As let her lie in torment, and then break it.

_Enter_ SUSAN.

MAUD. O Susan, she thou loved’st so dear is gone!
SUSAN. O sweet maid!
TOUCH. SEN. This is she that help’d her still.—
I've a reward here for thee.
YEL. Take her in,
Remove her from our sight, our shame and sorrow.
TOUCH. SEN. Stay, let me help thee, ’tis the last cold
kindness
I can perform for my sweet brother’s sake.
[_Exeunt_ TOUCHWOOD _senior_, SUSAN, _and
Servants, carrying out_ MOLL.
YEL. All the whole street will hate us, and the world
Point me out cruel: it’s our best course, wife,
After we’ve given order for the funeral,
T' absent ourselves till she be laid in ground.
MAUD. Where shall we spend that time?
YEL. I'll tell thee where, wench:
Go to some private church, and marry Tim
To the rich Brecknock gentlewoman.
MAUD. Mass, a match;
We’ll not lose all at once, somewhat we’ll catch.
[_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_A room in_ SIR OLIVER KIX’S _house_.

_Enter_ SIR OLIVER KIX _and Servants_.

SIR OL. Ho, my wife’s quicken’d; I'm a man for ever!
I think I have bestirr’d my stumps, i’faith.
Run, get your fellows all together instantly,
Then to the parish church and ring the bells.
FIRST SER. It shall be done, sir. [_Exit._
SIR OL. Upon my love
I charge you, villain, that you make a bonfire
Before the door at night.
SEC. SER. A bonfire, sir?
SIR OL. A thwacking one, I charge you.
SEC. SER. This is monstrous. [_Aside, and exit._
SIR OL. Run, tell a hundred pound out for the
gentleman
That gave my wife the drink, the first thing you do.
THIRD SER. A hundred pounds, sir?
SIR OL. A bargain: as our joy[151] grows,
We must remember still from whence it flows,
Or else we prove ungrateful multipliers:
[_Exit Third Servant._
The child is coming, and the land comes after;
The news of this will make a poor sir Walter:
I've strook it home, i’faith.
FOURTH SER. That you have, marry, sir;
But will not your worship go to the funeral
Of both these lovers?
SIR OL. Both? go both together?
FOURTH SER. Ay, sir, the gentleman’s brother will have
it so;
'Twill be the pitifull’st sight! there is such running,
Such rumours, and such throngs, a pair of lovers
Had never more spectators, more men’s pities,
Or women’s wet eyes.
SIR OL. My wife helps the number then.
FOURTH SER. There is such drawing out of handkerchers;
And those that have no handkerchers lift up aprons.
SIR OL. Her parents may have joyful hearts at this:
I would not have my cruelty so talk’d on
To any child of mine for a monopoly.
FOURTH SER. I believe you, sir.
’Tis cast[152] so, too, that both their coffins meet,
Which will be lamentable.
SIR OL. Come, we’ll see’t. [_Exeunt._

SCENE IV.

_Near a church._

_Recorders[153] dolefully playing, enter at one door
the coffin of_ TOUCHWOOD _junior, solemnly decked,
his sword upon it, attended by many gentlemen in
black, among whom are_ SIR OLIVER KIX, ALLWIT,
_and Parson_, TOUCHWOOD _senior being the chief
mourner: at the other door the coffin of_ MOLL,
_adorned with a garland of flowers, and epitaphs
pinned on it,[154] attended by many matrons and
maids, among whom are_ LADY KIX, MISTRESS ALLWIT,
_and_ SUSAN: _the coffins are set down, one right
over against the other; and while all the company
seem to weep and mourn, there is a sad song in the
music-room_.[155]

TOUCH. SEN. Never could death boast of a richer prize
From the first parent; let the world bring forth
A pair of truer hearts. To speak but truth
Of this departed gentleman, in a brother
Might, by hard censure, be call’d flattery,
Which makes me rather silent in his right
Than so to be deliver’d to the thoughts
Of any envious hearer, starv’d in virtue,
And therefore pining to hear others thrive;
But for this maid, whom envy cannot hurt
With all her poisons, having left to ages
The true, chaste monument of her living name,
Which no time can deface, I say of her
The full truth freely, without fear of censure:
What nature could there shine,[156] that might redeem
Perfection home to woman, but in her
Was fully glorious? beauty set in goodness
Speaks what she was; that jewel so infix’d,
There was no want of any thing of life
To make these virtuous precedents man and wife.
ALLWIT. Great pity of their deaths!
FIRST MOUR.[157] Never more pity!
LADY KIX. It makes a hundred weeping eyes, sweet
gossip.
TOUCH. SEN. I cannot think there’s any one amongst you
In this full fair assembly, maid, man, or wife,
Whose heart would not have sprung with joy and gladness
To have seen their marriage-day.
SEC. MOUR. It would have made
A thousand joyful hearts.
TOUCH. SEN. Up then apace,
And take your fortunes, make these joyful hearts;
Here’s none but friends.
[MOLL _and_ TOUCHWOOD _junior rise out of their coffins_.
THIRD MOUR. Alive, sir?
FOURTH MOUR. O sweet, dear couple!
TOUCH. SEN. Nay, do not hinder ’em now, stand from
about ’em;
If she be caught again, and have this time,
I'll ne’er plot further for ’em, nor this honest
chambermaid,
That help’d all at a push.
TOUCH. JUN.[158] Good sir, apace.
PARSON. Hands join now, but hearts for ever,
[MOLL _and_ TOUCHWOOD _junior join hands_.
Which no parent’s mood shall sever.
You shall forsake all widows, wives, and maids—
You lords, knights, gentlemen, and men of trades;—
And if in haste any article misses,
Go interline it with a brace of kisses.
TOUCH. SEN. Here’s a thing troll’d nimbly.—Give you
joy, brother;
Were’t not better thou shouldst have her than the maid
should die?
MIS. ALL. To you, sweet mistress bride.
FIRST MOUR.[159] Joy, joy to you both.
TOUCH. SEN. Here be your wedding-sheets you brought
along with you;
You may both go to bed when you please too.
TOUCH. JUN. My joy wants utterance.
TOUCH. SEN. Utter all at night
Then, brother.
MOLL. I am silent with delight.
TOUCH. SEN. Sister, delight will silence any woman;
But you’ll find your tongue again ’mong maid servants,
Now you keep house, sister.
SEC. MOUR. Never was hour so fill’d with joy and
wonder.
TOUCH. SEN. To tell you the full story of this
chambermaid,
And of her kindness in this business to us,
'Twould ask an hour’s discourse; in brief, ’twas she
That wrought it to this purpose cunningly.
THIRD MOUR. We shall all love her for’t.
FOURTH MOUR. See, who comes here now!

_Enter_ YELLOWHAMMER _and_ MAUDLIN.

TOUCH. SEN. A storm, a storm! but we are shelter’d for
it.
YEL. I will prevent[160] you all, and mock you thus,
You and your expectations; I stand happy,
Both in your lives, and your hearts' combination.
TOUCH. SEN. Here’s a strange day again!
YEL. The knight’s prov’d villain;
All’s come out now, his niece an arrant baggage;
My poor boy Tim is cast away this morning,
Even before breakfast, married a whore
Next to his heart.
MOURNERS. A whore!
YEL. His niece, forsooth.
ALLWIT. I think we rid our hands in good time of him.
MIS. ALL. I knew he was past the best when I gave him
over.—
What is become of him, pray, sir?
YEL. Who, the knight?
He lies i' th' Knights' ward,[161]— now your belly,
lady, [_To_ LADY KIX.
Begins to blossom, there’s no peace for him,
His creditors are so greedy.
SIR OL. Master Touchwood,
Hear’st thou this news? I'm so endear’d to thee
For my wife’s fruitfulness, that I charge you both,
Your wife and thee, to live no more asunder
For the world’s frowns; I've purse, and bed, and board
for you:
Be not afraid to go to your business roundly;
Get children, and I'll keep them.
TOUCH. SEN. Say you so, sir?
SIR OL. Prove me with three at a birth, and[162] thou
dar’st now.
TOUCH. SEN. Take heed how you dare a man, while you
live, sir,
That has good skill at his weapon.
SIR OL. ’Foot, I dare you, sir!

_Enter_ TIM, _Welshwoman, and Tutor_.

YEL. Look, gentlemen, if e’er you saw[163] the picture
Of the unfortunate marriage, yonder ’tis.
WELSH. Nay, good sweet Tim——
TIM. Come from the university
To marry a whore in London, with my tutor too!
_O tempora! O mores!_
TUTOR. Prithee, Tim, be patient.
TIM. I bought a jade at Cambridge;
I'll let her out to execution, tutor,
For eighteenpence a-day, or Brainford[164] horse-races,
She’ll serve to carry seven miles out of town well.
Where be these mountains? I was promis’d mountains,
But there’s such a mist, I can see none of ’em.
What are become of those two thousand runts?[165]
Let’s have a bout with them in the meantime;
A vengeance runt thee!
MAUD. Good sweet Tim, have patience.
TIM. _Flectere[166] si nequeo superos, Acheronta
movebo_, mother.
MAUD. I think you have married her in logic, Tim.
You told me once by logic you would prove
A whore an honest woman; prove her so, Tim,
And take her for thy labour.
TIM. Troth, I thank you:
I grant you, I may prove another man’s wife so,
But not mine own.
MAUD. There’s no remedy now, Tim;
You must prove her so as well as you may.
TIM. Why then
My tutor and I will about her as well as we can:
_Uxor non est meretrix, ergo falleris_.[167]
WELSH. Sir, if your logic cannot prove me honest,
There’s a thing call’d marriage, and that makes me
honest.
MAUD. O, there’s a trick beyond your logic, Tim!
TIM. I perceive then a woman may be honest
According to the English print, when she’s
A whore in the Latin; so much for marriage and logic:
I'll love her for her wit, I'll pick out my runts there;
And for my mountains, I'll mount upon ——[168]
YEL. So fortune seldom deals two marriages
With one hand, and both lucky; the best is,
One feast will serve them both: marry, for room,
I'll have the dinner kept in Goldsmiths' Hall,
To which, kind gallants, I invite you all.
[_Exeunt omnes._

------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE SPANISH GIPSY.

_The Spanish Gipsie. As it was Acted (with great Applause) at
the Privat House in Drury-Lane, and Salisbury Court._

{ _Thomas Midleton_ }
_Written by_ { and } _Gent._
{ _William Rowley_ }

_Never Printed before. London, Printed by J. G. for Richard
Marriot in St. Dunstans Church-yard, Fleetstreet_, 1653. 4to.

Another ed. appeared in 1661. 4to.

_The Spanish Gipsy_ has been reprinted in the 4th vol. of _A
Continuation of Dodsley’s Old Plays_, 1816.

I have met with no earlier mention of it than that which
occurs under a “Note of such playes as were acted at court in
1623 and 1624,” in Sir Henry Herbert’s office-book; “Upon the
fifth of November att Whitehall, the prince being there only,
_The Gipsye_, by the Cockpitt company.” Malone’s _Shakespeare_
(by Boswell), vol. iii. p. 227.

“The Story of Roderigo and Clara,” says Langbaine, “has a near
resemblance with (if it be not borrow’d from) a Spanish Novel,
writ by Miguel de Cervantes, call’d _The Force of Blood_.”
_Acc. of Engl. Dram. Poets_, p. 373. The editor of 1816
chooses to “think it not improbable that the other plot was
suggested to our writers by the _Beggar’s Bush_ of Fletcher,
and the play-scene by the similar one in the _Hamlet_ of
Shakespeare.”

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

FERNANDO DE AZEVIDA, _corregidor of Madrid_.
PEDRO DE CORTES.
FRANCISCO DE CARCOMO.
RODERIGO, _son to Fernando_.
LOUIS DE CASTRO.
DIEGO, _his friend_.
JOHN, _son to Francisco_.
SANCHO, _ward to Pedro_.
SOTO, _his man_.
ALVAREZ DE CASTILLA, _disguised as the father of the
gipsies_.
CARLO, }
ANTONIO, } _disguised as gipsies_.
_and others_, }
_Servants._

MARIA, _wife to Pedro_.
CLARA, _their daughter_.
GUIAMARA, _wife to Alvarez and sister to Fernando,
disguised as the mother of the gipsies, and called
by the name of Eugenia_.
CONSTANZA, _daughter to Fernando, disguised as a
gipsy, and called by the name of Pretiosa_.
CHRISTIANA, _disguised as a gipsy_.
CARDOCHIA, _hostess to Alvarez and his companions_.

Scene, MADRID[169] and its neighbourhood.

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THE SPANISH GIPSY.

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