Chapter XXIII: Act THE FOURTH

SCENE I.--_A Room in_ Sir Harry’s _House_.

_Enter_ Sir Harry, Haringfield, Gratiana, _with others_.

Sir Harry.
I am satisfied, good Master Haringfield,
Touching your friend; and since I see you have left
His dangerous company, I limit[4.43] you
To be a welcome guest unto my table.

Haringfield.
You have been always noble.

_Enter_ Taber.

Sir Harry.
Taber, the news with thee?

Taber.
May it please thee, right worshipful, to understand that there are
some at the gate who dance a turn or two without, and desire to be
admitted to speak with you within.

Sir Harry.
The scholar, is it not?

Taber.
Nay, sir, there are two scholars, and they are spouting Latin one
against the other; and in my simple judgment the stranger is the
better scholar, and is somewhat too hard for Sir Boniface: for he
speaks louder, and that you know is ever the sign of the most
learning, and he also hath a great desire to serve your worship.

Sir Harry.
Two scholars! my house hath not place for two.
Thus it shall be. Taber, admit them both;
We, though unlearned, will hear them two dispute,
And he that of the two seems the best read
Shall be received, the other quite cashiered.

Haringfield.
In that you show but justice: in all persons
Merit should be regarded.

_Enter_ Taber, _ushering in_ Sir Boniface, _and_ Sencer,
_disguised like a_ pedant.

Sir Boniface.
_Venerabiles magistri, absint vobis capistri_.

Sencer.
_Et tu, domine calve, iterum atque iterum salve. Amo amas amavi_.
Sweet lady, Heaven save ye!

Sir Harry.
This approves him to be excellent, but I thank my breeding I
understand not a word.

You tongue-men, you whose wealth lies in your brains,
Not in your budgets, hear me. Be it known,
My house affords room for one schoolmaster,
But not for more; and I am thus resolved:
Take you that side, gentle Sir Boniface,
And, sir, possess you that.
He of you two in arguing proves the best,
To him will I subscribe. Are you agreed?

Sir Boniface.
_Nec animo, nec corde, nec utroque_.

Sencer.
No more of that _nec corde_. Noble knight, he wishes you _nec
corde_; think of that.

Sir Harry.
A cord about my neck, Sir Boniface!
Speak, do you use me well?

Sir Boniface.
_Domine, cur rogas_?

Sencer.
Is this to be endured,--to call a knight
Cur, rogue and ass?

Sir Harry.
I find myself abused.

Haringfield.
Yet patience, good Sir Harry, and hear more.
Pray, Sir Boniface, of what university were you of?

Sir Boniface.
I was student in Brazenose.

Haringfield.
A man might guess so much by your pimples.
And of what place were you?

Sencer.
_Petrus dormit securus_; I was, sir, of Peterhouse.[4.44]

Sir Boniface.
_Natus eram_ in Woxford, and I proceeded[4.45]
in Oxford.

Sencer.
_Est mihi bene nostrum_, thou wouldst say, in Gotham; for my part,
Sir Harry, I can read service and marry, _Que genus et flexum_,
though I go in Genes[4.46] fustian; _scalpellum et charta_, I was
not brought up at plough and cart; I can teach _Qui mihi_, and
neither laugh nor tee-hee; _sed as in presenti_, if your worship at
this present, _Iste, ista, istud_, will do me any good, to give me
_legem pone_ in gold or in money, _Piper atque papaver_, I’ll
deserve it with my labour.

Haringfield.
But when go you to dispute?

Sir Boniface.
_Nominativo hic prediculus_, his words are most ridiculous; but _tu_
thou, _qui_ the which, deridest those that be rich, _construe hanc
sententiam_, construe me this sentence: _Est modus in rebus, sunt
certi denique fines_.

Sencer.
_Est modus in rebus_, there is mud in the rivers; _sunt certi
denique fines_, and certain little fishes.

Sir Harry.
I warrant you he hath his answer ready.

Sir Boniface.
_Dii boni boni_.

Haringfield.
He’ll give you more bones than those to gnaw on, Sir Boniface.

Sencer.
_Kartere Moosotropos poluphiltate phile poetatis Tes Logikes retoon,
ouch elachiste sophoon_. That is as much as to say, in our _materna
lingua_, I will make you, Sir Boniface, confess yourself an ass in
English, speak open and broad words, for want of Latin, and
_denique_ entreat me to resolve such questions as I shall ask you in
our modern tongue.

Sir Harry.
Confess himself an ass? speak obscene words?
After entreat thee to resolve thy questions?
Do that; possess the place.

Sencer.
_Di do_ and _dum_: no more words but _mum_:

Sir Boniface.
Noble Sir Harry, _numquam sic possit_?

Sir Harry.
Sir Boniface is sick already and calls for a posset; no marvel,
being so threatened.

Sencer.
You, Boniface, decline me I am a no after the first conjugation,
_amo amavi, vocito vocitavi, Titubo Titubavi_?

Sir Boniface.
I am not the preceptor to a pupil,
But can decline it; mark, Sir Timothy.
I am a no.

Sencer.
_Bene bene_.

Sir Boniface.
I am an as.

Sencer.
Most true, most true, _vos estis, ut ego sum testis_, that what he
confessed is as true as the _pestis_.

Sir Harry.
This scholar works by magic; he hath made him confess himself an
ass.

Sir Boniface.
_Per has meas manus, vir, tu es insanus_.

Sencer.
I’ll make him fret worse yet. Sir Boniface, _quid est grammatica_?

Sir Boniface.
_Grammatica est ars_.

Sir Harry.
Fie, fie! no more of these words, good Sir Boniface.

Sencer.
Attend again, proceed me with this verse of reverend Cato: _Si deus
est animus_.

Sir Boniface.
_Nobis ut carmina dicunt_.

Taber.
Di---- quotha! out on him for a beastly man!

Sir Harry.
I would not have him teach my children so for more than I am worth.

Sir Boniface.
O! but reverend Sir Harry, you must _subaudi_.

Sir Harry.
I’ll never be so bawdy whilst I live, nor any of mine, I hope.

Sir Boniface.
O! _Propria quæ maribus_.

Sir Harry.
Ay, Boniface, it is those marrow-bones
That make you talk so broadly!

Sir Boniface.
_Venerabilis vir, homo ille est ebrius_.

Sir Harry.
What doth he mean by that?

Sencer.
He saith I can speak Hebrew.

Sir Harry.
I believe’t:
But if Sir Boniface still con these lessons,
He’ll speak the French tongue perfect.

Sencer.
Now to the last; I’ll task Sir Boniface
But with an easy question. Tell me, sir,
What’s Latin for this earth?

Sir Boniface.
Facile and easy, more fit for the pupil than the preceptor. What’s
Latin for this earth? _Tellus_.

Sencer.
Tell you? no, sir, it belongs to you to tell me.

Sir Boniface.
I say _tellus_ is Latin for the earth.

Sencer.
And I say, I will not tell you what is Latin for the earth, unless
you yield me victor.

Sir Harry.
You have no reason: good Sir Timothy,
The place is yours.

Haringfield.
He hath deserved it well.

Sencer.
But I’ll deserve it better: why, this fellow
Is frantic; you shall hear me make him speak
Idly and without sense. I’ll make him say
His nose was husband to a Queen.

[_He whispers_ Sir Harry.

Sir Harry.
Sir Timothy, not possible.

Taber.
He will not speak it for shame.

Sencer.
That you shall hear. Magister Boniface.

Sir Boniface.
_Quid ais_, domine Timothy?

Sencer.
Who was Pasiphe’s husband, Queen of Crete?

Sir Boniface.
Who knows not that? Why, Minos was her husband.

Sencer.
That his nose was; did I not tell you so?

Sir Boniface.
I say that Minos was.

Sencer.
That his nose was--ha, ha!

Sir Harry.
I’ll not believe it.--
Sir Boniface, there are a brace of angels;
You are not for my turn. Sir Timothy,
You are the man shall read unto my daughter
The Latin tongue, in which I am ignorant.
Confess yourself an ass; speak bawdy words;
And after to talk idly! Hence, away!
You shall have my good word, but not my pay.

Sir Boniface.
_Opus est usus_; Sir Timothy, you abuse us.
I swear by a noun, had I thy hose down,
_Qui, quæ, quod_, I would so smoke thee with the rod,
_Ille, illa, illud_, until I fetched blood.
But, _nobiles vaiete_, remain in _quiete_.

[_Exeunt_ Sir Boniface _and_ Taber.

Sir Harry.
Sir Timothy, there is some gold in earnest,
I like you well; take into your tuition
My daughter Gratiana. [_Re-enter_ Taber.] The news, Taber?

Taber.
Of another gallant, noble sir, that pretends to have business both
with you and my mistress.

Sir Harry.
Admit him.

_Enter_ Young Chartley _very gallant, with_ Gratiana.

Taber.
Lusty Juventus,[4.47] will it please you to draw near?

Young Chartley.
Noble knight, whilst you peruse that [_Hands_ Sir Harry _a
letter_], sweet lady, tell me how you like this? [_Kisses_
Gratiana.

Gratiana.
You press so suddenly upon me, sir,
I know not what to answer.

Sencer.
[_Aside_.] Mad Chartley! what makes Desperation here?

Young Chartley.
To the word wooer let me add the name speeder; my father hath
written to your father, and the cause of his writing at this present
is to let you understand that he fears you have lived a maid too
long; and therefore, to prevent all diseases incident to the same,
as the green sickness and others, he sent me, like a skilful
physician, to take order with you against all such maladies. If you
will not credit me, list but how fervently my father writes in my
behalf.

Sir Harry.
[_Reads_.] “He is my only son, and she, I take it, your only
daughter. What should hinder then to make a match between them?”
Well, ’tis well, ’tis good, I like it. “I will make her jointure
three hundred pounds a year.”

Young Chartley.
How say you by that, sweet lady? three hundred pounds a year, and a
proper man to boot?

Sir Harry.
All’s good, I like it; welcome, Master Chartley.
Thou, Gratiana, art no child of mine
Unless thou bidst him welcome. This I presume
To be your father’s hand?

Young Chartley.
[_Aside_.] But I’ll be sworn he never writ it.

Sir Harry.
And this his seal at arms?

Young Chartley.
Or else I understand it very poorly. But, lady,
In earnest of further acquaintance, receive this chain,
These jewels, hand and heart.

Sir Harry.
Refuse no chain nor jewels, heart nor hand,
But in exchange of these bestow thyself,
Thine own dear self, upon him.

Gratiana.
Myself on him, whom I till now ne’er saw?
Well, since I must, your will’s to me a law.

Sencer.
Nay, then, ’tis time to speak. Shall I stand here waiting like a
coxcomb, and see her given away before my face? Stay your hand, Sir
Harry; and let me claim my promise.

Sir Harry.
My promise I’ll perform, Sir Timothy;
You shall have all your wages duly paid.

Sencer.
I claim fair Gratiana by your promise.
No more Sir Timothy, but Sencer now.
You promised me when you received my service,
And with your liberal hand did wage my stay,
To endow me freely with your daughter’s love.
That promise now I claim.

Sir Harry.
Mere cozenage, knavery:
I tied myself to no conditions
In which such guile is practised. Come, son Chartley:
To cut off all disasters incident
To these proceedings, we will solemnise
These nuptial rites with all speed possible.

Young Chartley.
Farewell, good Sir Timothy; farewell, learned Sir Timothy.

[_Exeunt all but_ Sencer.

Sencer.
Why, and farewell, learned Sir Timothy.
For now Sir Timothy and I am two:
Boast on, brag on, exalt, exalt thyself,
Swim in a sea of pleasure and content
Whilst my bark suffers wreck! I’ll be revenged.
Chartley, I’ll cry _vindicta_ for this scorn;
Next time thou gorest, it must be with thy horn. [_Exit_.

SCENE II.--_The Street outside the Goldsmith’s Shop_.

_Enter_ Boyster.

Boyster.
I am mad, and know not at what;
I could swagger, but know not with whom;
I am at odds with myself, and know not why:
I shall be pacified, and cannot tell when;
I would fain have a wife, but cannot tell where;
I would fasten on Luce, but cannot tell how.
How; where; when; why; whom; what.
Feeding sure makes me lean, and fasting fat.

_Enter_ Luce _and_ Joseph.

Luce.
Not all this while once see me!

Joseph.
His occasions
Perhaps enforce his absence.

Luce.
His occasions!
Unless he find occasion of new love,
What could enforce such absence from his spouse?
Am I grown foul and black since my espousals?
It should not seem so; for the shop is daily
Customed with store of chapmen, such as come
To cheapen love. O no, I am myself!
But Chartley he is changed.

Joseph.
You know that gentleman.

Luce.
Escape him if thou canst.

Boyster.
He cannot. I arrest you.

Luce.
At whose suit?

Boyster.
Not at mine own, that’s dashed; I love thee not.
Thou art a Spaniard, gipsy, a mere blackamoor:
Again I say I love thee not.

Luce.
A blackamoor, a gipsy!
Sure I am changed indeed, and that’s the cause
My husband left me so; this gentleman
Once termed me beautiful. How look I, Joseph?

Joseph.
As well as e’er you did--fat, fresh, and fair.

Boyster.
You lie, boy; pocket that, and now be gone.

Joseph.
And what shall then become of my mistress?

Boyster.
I’ll wait upon your mistress.

Luce.
I know you will not wait on such a gipsy.

Boyster.
Yes, Luce, on such a gipsy. Boy, _abi, abi_.

Joseph.
Abide, sir! you need not fear that; I have no purpose to leave her.

Boyster.
Now you are going to the wedding-house.
You are bid to be a bridemaid, are you not?

Luce.
What wedding, sir, or whose?

Boyster.
Why, Chartley’s. Luce, hath he been thy friend so long,
And would not bid thee to wait on his bride?
Why look’st thou red and pale, and both, and neither?

Luce.
To Master Chartley’s bridals? Why, to whom
Should he be married?

Boyster.
To Grace of Gracious-street.

Luce.
To Gratiana!
Beshrew you, sir, you do not use me well,
To buzz into mine ears these strange untruths:
I tell you, sir, ’tis as impossible
They two should match, as Earth and Heaven to meet.

Boyster.
You’ll not believe it? Pray then hark within
The nuptial music echoing to their joys.
But you give credit to no certainties:
I told you but a tale, a lie, a fable,
A monstrous, a notorious idle untruth--
That you were black, and that I loved you not--
And you could credit that!
[_Enter_ Sir Harry, Haringfield, Young Chartley _leading_
Gratiana _by the arm_, Taber, _and_ Attendants.]
Who’s tell-troth now?
Know you that man, or know you that fine virgin
Whom by the arm he leads?

Luce.
I’ll not endure’t.--Heaven give you joy, sir!

Young Chartley.
I thank you. Luce!

[_She faints_.

Sir Harry.
Look to the maid; she faints.

[Boyster _holds her up_.

Young Chartley.
Grace, come not near her, Grace.
Father, keep off; on, gentlemen, apace.
She’s troubled with the falling sickness, for
Oft hath she fallen before me.

Sir Harry.
Nay, if it be no otherwise, on, gentlemen,
Let those with her strive to recover her.
Keep off; the disease is infectious.

Young Chartley.
If it were in a man, it were nothing, but the falling sickness in a
woman is dangerous. [_Enter_ Luce’s Father.] My tother
father-in-law! Now shall I be utterly shamed. If he assure to know
me, I’ll outface him.

Luce’s Father.
Son, you’re well met.

Young Chartley.
How, fellow!

Luce’s Father.
I cry you mercy, sir.

Young Chartley.
No harm done, friend, no harm done.

[_Exeunt_ Sir Harry, Haringfield, Young Chartley, _and_
Gratiana.

Luce’s Father.
If he, he could not but have known me there,
Yet he was wondrous like him.

Boyster.
How cheer you, Luce? whence grew this passion?

Luce.
Pardon me, sir, I do not know myself:
I am apt to swound, and now the fit is passed me.
I thank you for your help. Is Master Chartley
Vanished so soon?

Boyster.
Yes; and to supply his place, see where thy
father comes.

Luce’s Father.
He hath not such a suit; besides, this gallant
Led by the arm a bride, a lusty bride!
How much might I have wronged the gentleman
By craving his acquaintance! This it is
To have dim eyes. Why looks my daughter sad?--
I cry you mercy, sir; I saw not you.

Boyster.
I would I had not seen you at this time neither.
Farewell. [_Exit_.

Luce.
If he be gone, then let me vent my grief.
Father, I am undone!

Luce’s Father.
Forbid it, Heaven!

Luce.
Disgraced, despised, discarded, and cast off.

Luce’s Father.
How, mine own child?

Luce.
My husband, O my husband!

Luce’s Father.
What of him?

Luce.
Shall I the shower of all my grief at once
Pour out before you? Chartley, once my husband,
Hath left me to my shame. Him and his bride
I met within few minutes.

Luce’s Father.
Sure ’twas they;
I met them too: ’twas he; base villain, Jew!
I’ll to the wedding board, and tell him so:
I’ll do’t as I am a man.

Luce.
Be not so rash.

Luce’s Father.
I’ll live and die upon him;
He’s a base fellow, so I’ll prove him too.
Joseph, my sword!

Luce.
This rashness will undo us.

Luce’s Father.
I’ll have my sword;
It hath been twice in France, and once in Spain,
With John-a-Gaunt; when I was young like him
I had my wards, and foins, and quarter-blows,
And knew the way into St. George’s Fields[4.48]
Twice in a morning. Tuttle, Finsbury,
I knew them all. I’ll to him: where’s my sword?

Luce.
Or leave this spleen, or you will overthrow
Our fortunes quite; let us consult together
What we were best to do.

Luce’s Father.
I’ll make him play at leap-frog! Well, I hear thee.

Luce.
I cannot prove our marriage; it was secret,
And he may find some cavil in the law.

Luce’s Father.
I’ll to him with no law, but Stafford law.[4.49]
I’ll ferret the false boy--nay, on, good Luce.

Luce.
Part of your spleen if you would change to counsel,
We might revenge us better.

Luce’s Father.
Well, I hear thee.

Luce.
To claim a public marriage at his hands
We want sufficient proof, and then the world
Will but deride our folly, and so add
Double disgrace unto my former wrong.
To law with him--he hath a greater purse,
And nobler friends. How then to make it known?

Luce’s Father.
Is this his damasked kirtle fringed with gold,
His black bag, and his beaver? ’Tis well yet
I have a sword.

Luce.
And I have a project in my brain begot,
To make his own mouth witness to the world
My innocence, and his incontinence.
Leave it to me, I’ll clear myself from blame,
Though I the wrong, yet he shall reap the shame.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE III.--_Outside the_ Wise-woman’s _House_.

_Enter_ Sencer _like a_ Serving-man.

Sencer.
Now or never, look about thee, Sencer: to-morrow is the marriage
day, which to prevent lies not within the compass of my
apprehension; therefore I have thus disguised myself, to go to the
looming woman’s, the fortune-teller’s, the anything, the nothing.
This over-against Mother Redcap’s is her house; I’ll knock.

_Enter 2nd_ Luce _in_ Boy’s _clothes_.

2nd Luce.
Who’s there? What would you have?

Sencer.
I would speak with the wise gentlewoman of the house.

2nd Luce.
Oh, belike you have lost somewhat.

Sencer.
You are in the wrong, sweet youth.

2nd Luce.
I am somewhat thick of hearing; pray speak out.

Sencer.
I say I have not lost anything, but wit and time, and neither of
those she can help me to.

2nd Luce.
Then you belike are crossed in love, and come to know what success
you shall have.

Sencer.
Thou hast hit it, sweet lad; thou hast hit it.

2nd Luce.
What is it you say, sir?

Sencer.
Thou hast hit it.

2nd Luce.
I pray come in; I’ll bring you to my mistress.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ Luce _and_ Joseph.

Luce.
This is the house; knock, Joseph; my business craves dispatch.

Joseph.
Now am I as angry as thou art timorous; and now to vent on the next
thing I meet--Oh, ’tis the door. [_Knocks_.

_Re-enter 2nd_ Luce.

2nd Luce.
Who’s there? What are you?

Luce.
A maid and a wife.

2nd Luce.
And that would grieve any wench to be so; I know that by myself, not
Luce.

Luce.
Boy, where’s your mistress?

2nd Luce.
In some private talk with a gentleman. I’ll fetch her to you
presently. [_Exit_.

Luce.
If she and you see me not, I am but dead;
I shall be made a by-word to the world,
The scorn of women, and my father’s shame.

_Enter the_ Wise-woman _and_ Sencer, _followed by 2nd_ Luce.

Wise-woman.
You tell me your name is Sence; I knew it before: and that Chartley
is to be married, I could have told it you.

2nd Luce.
Married to-morrow,--O me!

Sencer.
Ay, but you tell me that Chartley before to-morrow shall be
disappointed of his wife; make that good, thou shalt have twenty
angels.

Wise-woman.
I’ll do’t: stand aside; I’ll have but a word or two with this
gentlewoman, and I am for you presently.

Luce.
O mother, mother!

[_They whisper_.

2nd Luce.
My husband marry another wife to-morrow! O changeable destiny! no
sooner married to him, but instantly to lose him! Nor doth it grieve
me so much that I am a wife, but that I am a maid too; to carry one
of them well is as much as any is bound to do, but to be tied to
both is more than flesh and blood can endure.

Wise-woman.
Well, trust to me, and I will set all things straight.

_Enter_ Boyster.

Boyster.
Where’s this witch, this hag, this beldam, this wizard? And have I
found thee!--thus then will I tear, mumble, and maul thee!

Wise-woman.
Help, help!--an if you be a gentleman!

Sencer.
Forbear this rudeness; he that touches her,
Draws against me.

Boyster.
Against you, sir! apply thou;[4.50] that shall be tried.

All.
Help, help! part them, help!

Sencer.
With patience hear her speak.

Boyster.
Now, trot, now, grannam, what canst thou say for thyself?--What,
Luce here! Be patient, and put up thou; she must not see the end.

Sencer.
Then truce of all sides; if we come for counsel,
Let us with patience hear it.

Luce.
Then first to me.

Wise-woman.
You would prevent young Chartley’s marriage? you shall: hark in your
ear. [_Whispers_.

Luce.
It pleaseth me.

Wise-woman.
You forestall Gratiana’s wedding? ’tis but thus. [_Whispers_.

Sencer.
I’ll do’t.

Wise-woman.
You would enjoy Luce as your wife, and lie with her to-morrow night?
Hark in your ear. [_Whispers_.

Boyster.
_Fiat_!

Wise-woman.
Away! you shall enjoy him, you are married, Luce, away! you shall
see Chartley discarded from Gratiana. Sencer, begone! And if I fail
in any of these or the rest, I lay myself open to all your
displeasures.

Boyster.
Farewell till soon!

Wise-woman.
You know your meeting-place.

All.
We do.

Wise-woman.
You shall report me wise and cunning too.

[_Exeunt all except_ 2nd Luce.

2nd Luce.
I’ll add one night more to the time I have said;
I have not many, I hope, to live a maid. [_Exit_.

SCENE IV.--_A Room in_ Sir Harry’s _House_.

_Enter_ Sir Boniface, _and_ Taber _carrying a trencher of broken meat and a napkin_.

Taber.
Fie, fie, what a time of trouble is this! To-morrow is my mistress
to be married, and we serving-men are so puzzled.

Sir Boniface.
The dinner’s half done, and before I say grace,
And bid the old knight and his guest proface.[4.51]
A medicine from your trencher, good Master Taber,
As good a man as e’er was Sir Saber:
Well, think it no shame: men of learning and wit
Say study gets a stomach; friend Taber, a bit.

Taber.
Lick clean, good Sir Boniface, and save the scraper a labour.

_Enter_ Sencer _like a_ Serving-man.

Sir Boniface.
But soft, let me ponder:
Know you him that comes yonder?

Taber.
Most heartily welcome; would you speak with any here?

Sencer.
Pray is the young gentleman of the house at leisure?

Taber.
Mean you the bridegroom, Master Chartley?

Sencer.
I have a letter for him. You seem to be a gentleman yourself;
acquaint him with my attendance, and I shall rest yours in all good
offices.

Taber.
Sir Boniface, pray keep the gentleman company. I will first acquaint
your lips with the virtue of the cellar. [_Exit_.

Sir Boniface.
_Adesdem_, come near, and taste of our beer.
Welcome, _sine dole_, for _puntis te vole_.

Sencer.
When I taste of your liquor,
Gramercy, Master Vicar.

_Re-enter_ Taber _with a bowl of beer and a napkin_.

Taber.
Most heartily welcome: your courtesy, I beseech you; ply it off, I
entreat you. Pray, Sir Boniface, keep the gentleman company, till I
acquaint my young master with his business. [_Exit_.

Sir Boniface.
Taber, I shall _beso las manus_.[4.52]

[_They dissemble one to another_.

Sencer.
_A vostre servitor_.

_Enter_ Haringfield.

Haringfield.
Hey! what art thou?

Sencer.
A hanger-on, if it please you.

Haringfield.
And I a shaker-off: I’ll not bear your gallows;
You shall not hang on me.
[_Enter_ Young Chartley _with his napkin as from dinner_.]
Oh, Master Bridegroom!

Young Chartley.
Gentlemen, the ladies call upon you to dance; they will be out of
measure displeased, if, dinner being done, you be not ready to lead
them a measure.

Haringfield.
Indeed, women love not to be scanted of their measure.

Young Chartley.
Fie, Sir Boniface! have you forgot yourself? Whilst you are in the
hall, there’s never a whetstone for their wits in the parlour.

Sir Boniface.
I will enter and set an edge upon their ingenies.

[_Exeunt_ Sir Boniface _and_ Haringfield.

Young Chartley.
[_To_ Sencer, _who hands him a letter_.] To me, sir! from whom? A
letter! To her “most dear, most loving, most kind friend Master
Chartley, these be delivered.” Sure from some wench or other. I
long to know the content.

Sencer.
[_Aside_.] Now to cry quittance with you for my “farewell, learned
Sir Timothy.”

Young Chartley.
Good news, as I live! there’s for thy pains, my good Sir
Pandarus.[4.53] Hadst thou brought me word my father had turned up
his heels, thou couldst scarcely have pleased me better. [_Reads_.]
“Though I disclaim the name of wife, of which I account myself
altogether unworthy, yet let me claim some small interest in your
love. This night I lie at the house where we were married--the
Wise-Woman’s I mean--where my maidenhead is to be rifled: bid fair
for it, and enjoy it; see me this night or never. So may you,
marrying Gratiana, and loving me, have a sweet wife and a true
friend. This night or never. Your _quondam_ wife, hereafter your
poor sweetheart, no other, Luce.” So, when I am tired with
Gratiana, that is when I am past grace with her, I can make my
rendezvous. I’ll not slip this occasion, nor sleep till I see her.
Thou art an honest lad, and mayst prove a good pimp in time. Canst
thou advise me what colour[4.54] I may have to compass this
commodity?

Sencer.
Sir, she this night expects you, and prepares a costly banquet for
you.

Young Chartley.
I’ll go, although the devil and mischance look big.

Sencer.
Feign some news that such a piece of land is fallen to you, and you
must instantly ride to take possession of it; or, which is more
probable, cannot you persuade them you have received a letter that
your father lies a-dying?

Young Chartley.
You rogue, I would he did; but the name of that news is called “too
good to be true.”

Sencer.
And that if ever you will see him alive, you must ride post into the
country?

Young Chartley.
Enough: if ever I prove knight-errant thou shalt be mine own proper
squire. For this, thou hast fitted me with a plot. Do but wait here;
note how I will manage it.--Taber, my horse, for I must ride
to-night.

_Re-enter_ Taber.

Taber.
To-night, sir!

Young Chartley.
So tell my bride and father: I have news that quite confounds my
senses.

[_Exit_ Taber.

_Enter_ Sir Harry, Gratiana, _and_ Haringfield.

Gratiana.
How, ride to-night! the marriage day to-morrow,
And all things well provided for the feast!
Oh, tell me, sweet, why do you look so pale?

Young Chartley.
My father, O my father!

Gratiana.
What of him?

Sir Harry.
What of your father, son?

Young Chartley.
If ever I will hear his agèd tongue
Preach to me counsel, or his palsy hand
Stroke my wild head and bless me, or his eyes
Drop tear by tear, which they have often done
At my misgoverned rioting youth--
What should I more?--if ever I would see
That good old man alive--Oh, oh!

Sencer.
[_Aside_.] Go thy ways, for thou shalt ha’t.

Gratiana.
But do you mean to ride?

Young Chartley.
Ay, Grace, all this night.

Sencer.
[_Aside_.] Not all the night without alighting, sure:
You’ll find more in’t than to get up and ride.

Haringfield.
The gentleman’s riding-boots and spurs. Why, Taber!

Young Chartley.
Nay, Grace, now’s no time to stand on scrupulous parting. Knewest
thou my business--

Sencer.
[_Aside_.] As she shall know it.

Young Chartley.
And how I mean this night to toil myself--

Sencer.
[_Aside_.] Marry hang, you brock[4.55]!

Young Chartley.
Thou wouldst bemoan my travel.

Sencer.
[_Aside_.] I know ’twould grieve her.

Young Chartley.
You, father, Grace, good Master Haringfield,
You, sir, and all, pray for me, gentlemen,
That in this dark night’s journey I may find
Smooth way, sweet speed, and all things to my mind.

Sir Harry.
We’ll see my son take horse.

Gratiana.
But I will stay:
I want the heart to see him post away.

[_Exeunt_ Young Chartley, Sir Harry _and_ Haringfield.

Sencer.
Save you, gentlewoman! I have a message to deliver to one Mistress
Gratiana; this should be the knight’s house, her father.

Gratiana.
It is: the message that you have to her
You may acquaint me with, for I am one
That knows the inside of her thoughts.

Sencer.
Are you the lady?

Gratiana.
Sir, I am the poor gentlewoman.

Sencer.
There is a cunning woman dwells not far,
At Hogsdon, lady, famous for her skill.
Besides some private talk that much concerns
Your fortunes in your love, she hath to show you,
This night, if it shall please you walk so far
As to her house, an admirable suit
Of costly needlework, which if you please
You may buy under-rate for half the value
It cost the making; about six o’clock
You may have view thereof, but otherwise,
A lady that hath craved the sight thereof
Must have the first refusal.

Gratiana.
I’ll not fail her.
My husband being this day rid from home,
My leisure fitly serves me.

Sencer.
Thank you, mistress. At six o’clock.

Gratiana.
I will not fail the hour. [_Exit_.

Sencer.
Now to Sir Harry; his is the next place,
To meet at Hogsdon his fair daughter Grace. [_Exit_.