Chapter XXI: Act THE FOURTH: SCENE 1.--A Tavern

_Enter_ BEAUGARD, COURTINE, _and_ Drawer.

_Draw._ Welcome, gentlemen, very welcome, sir; will you please
to walk up one pair of stairs?

_Beau._ Get the great room ready presently; carry up too a good
stock of bottles before-hand, with ice to cool our wine, and
water to refresh our glasses.

_Draw._ It shall be done, sir.--Coming, coming there, coming:
speak up in the Dolphin, somebody. [_Exit._

_Beau._ Ah, Courtine, must we be always idle? must we never see
our glorious days again? when shall we be rolling in the lands
of milk and honey; encamped in large luxuriant vineyards, where
the loaded vines cluster about our tents; drink the rich juice,
just pressed from the plump grape; feeding on all the fragrant
golden fruit that grow in fertile climes, and ripened by the
earliest vigour of the sun?

_Cour._ Ah, Beaugard, those days have been, but now we must
resolve to content ourselves at an humble rate. Methinks
it is not unpleasant to consider how I have seen thee in a
large pavilion, drowning the heat of the day in champagne
wines, sparkling sweet as those charming beauties whose dear
remembrance every glass recorded, with half a dozen honest
fellows more; friends, Beaugard; faithful hearty friends;
things as hard to meet with as preferment here; fellows that
would speak truth boldly, and were proud on't; that scorned
flattery, loved honesty, for 'twas their portion; and never yet
learned the trade of ease and lying: but now--

_Beau._ And now we are at home in our natural hives, and sleep
like drones; but there's a gentleman on the other side the
water,[41] that may make work for us all one day.

_Cour._ But in the meanwhile--

_Beau._ In the meanwhile patience, Courtine; that is the
Englishman's virtue. Go to the man that owes you money,
and tell him you are necessitated; his answer shall be "A
little patience, I beseech you, sir." Ask a cowardly rascal
satisfaction for a sordid injury done you; he shall cry,
"Alas-a-day, sir, you are the strangest man living, you won't
have patience to hear one speak." Complain to a great man
that you want preferment, that you have forsaken considerable
advantages abroad, in obedience to public edicts; all you shall
get of him is this, "You must have patience, sir."

_Cour._ But will patience feed me, or clothe me, or keep me
clean?

_Beau._ Pr'ythee no more hints of poverty: 'tis scandalous;
'sdeath, I would as soon choose to hear a soldier brag as
complain. Dost thou want any money?

_Cour._ True, indeed, I want no necessaries to keep me alive;
but I do not enjoy myself with that freedom I would do; there
is no more pleasure in living at stint, than there is in living
alone. I would have it in my power, when he needed me, to serve
and assist my friend; I would to my ability deal handsomely too
by the woman that pleased me.

_Beau._ Oh, fie for shame! you would be a whore-master, friend;
go, go, I'll have no more to do with you.

_Cour._ I would not be forced neither at any time to avoid a
gentleman that had obliged me, for want of money to pay him a
debt contracted in our old acquaintance: it turns my stomach
to wheedle with the rogue I scorn, when he uses me scurvily,
because he has my name in his shop-book.

_Beau._ As, for example, to endure the familiarities of a rogue
that shall cock his greasy hat in my face, when he duns me, and
at the same time vail it[42] to an over-grown deputy of the
ward, though a frowzy fellmonger.

_Cour._ To be forced to concur with his nonsense too, and laugh
at his parish-jests.

_Beau._ To use respects and ceremonies to the milchcow his
wife, and praise her pretty children, though they stink of
their mother, and are uglier than the issue of a baboon; yet
all this must be endured.

_Cour._ Must it, Beaugard?

_Beau._ And, since 'tis so, let's think of a bottle.

_Cour._ With all my heart, for railing and drinking do much
better together than by themselves; a private room, a trusty
friend or two, good wine and bold truths, are my happiness. But
where's our dear friend and intimate, Sir Jolly, this evening?

_Beau._ To deal like a friend, Courtine, I parted with him but
just now; he's gone to contrive me a meeting, if possible,
this night, with the woman my soul is most fond of. I was this
evening just entering upon the palace of all joy, when I met
with so damnable a disappointment--in short, that plague to all
well-meaning women, the husband, came unseasonably, and forced
a poor lover to his heels, that was fairly making his progress
another way, Courtine: the story thou shalt hear more at large
hereafter.

_Cour._ A plague on him, why didst thou not murder the
presumptuous cuckold? saucy intruding clown, to dare to disturb
a gentleman's privacies! I would have beaten him into sense of
his transgression, enjoyed his wife before his face, and ha'
taught the dog his duty.

_Beau._ Look you, Courtine, you think you are dealing with
the landlord of your winter-quarters in Alsatia now. Friend,
friend, there is a difference between a free-born English
cuckold and a sneaking wittol of a conquered province.

_Cour._ Oh, by all means, there ought to be a difference
observed between your arbitrary whoring, and your limited
fornication.

_Beau._ And but reason: for, though we may make bold with
another man's wife in a friendly way, yet nothing upon
compulsion, dear heart.

_Cour._ And now Sir Jolly, I hope, is to be the instrument of
some immortal plot; some contrivance for the good of thy body,
and the old fellow's soul, Beaugard: for all cuckolds go to
Heaven, that's most certain.

_Beau._ Sir Jolly! why, on my conscience, he thinks it as much
his undoubted right to be pimp-mastergeneral to London and
Middlesex, as the estate he possesses is: by my consent his
worship should e'en have a patent for it.

_Cour._ He is certainly the fittest for the employment in
Christendom; he knows more families by their names and titles
than all the bell-men within and without the walls.

_Beau._ Nay, he keeps a catalogue of the choicest beauties
about town, illustrated with a particular account of their
age, shape, proportion, colour of hair and eyes, degrees of
complexion, gunpowder spots and moles.

_Cour._ I wish the old pander were bound to satisfy my
experience, what marks of good-nature my Sylvia has about her.

_Enter_ Sir JOLLY JUMBLE.

_Sir Jol._ My captains! my sons of Mars and imps of Venus! well
encountered; what, shall we have a sparkling bottle or two, and
use Fortune like a jade? Beaugard, you are a rogue, you are a
dog, I hate you; get you gone, go.

_Beau._ But, Sir Jolly, what news from paradise Sir Jolly? Is
there any hopes I shall come there to-night?

_Sir Jol._ May be there is, may be there is not; I say let us
have a bottle, and I will say nothing else without a bottle:
after a glass or two my heart may open.

_Cour._ Why, then we will have a bottle, Sir Jolly.

_Sir Jol._ Will? we'll have dozens, and drink till we are wise,
and speak well of nobody; till we are lewder than midnight
whores, and out-rail disbanded officers.

_Beau._ Only one thing more, my noble knight, and then we are
entirely at thy disposal.

_Sir Jol._ Well, and what's that? What's the business?

_Beau._ This friend of mine here stands in need of thy
assistance; he's damnably in love, Sir Jolly.

_Sir Jol._ In love! is he so? In love! odds my life! Is she?
what's her name? where does she live? I warrant you I know her:
she's in my table-book, I'll warrant you: virgin, wife, or
widow? [_Pulls out a table-book._

_Cour._ In troth, Sir Jolly, that's something of a difficult
question; but, as virgins go now, she may pass for one of them.

_Sir Jol._ Virgin, very good: let me see; virgin, virgin,
virgin; oh, here are the virgins; truly, I meet with the
fewest of this sort of any. Well, and the first letter of her
name now? for a wager I guess her.

_Cour._ Then you must know, Sir Jolly, that I love my love with
an S.

_Sir Jol._ S, S, S, oh, here are the Esses; let me consider
now--Sappho?

_Cour._ No, sir.

_Sir Jol._ Selinda?

_Cour._ Neither.

_Sir Jol._ Sophronia?

_Cour._ You must guess again, I assure you.

_Sir Jol._ Sylvia?

_Cour._ Ay, ay, Sir Jolly, that's the fatal name; Sylvia the
fair, the witty, the ill-natured; do you know her, my friend?

_Sir Jol._ Know her! why, she is my daughter, and I have
adopted her these seven years. Sylvia! let me look. [_Reads._]
"Light brown hair, her face oval, and nose Roman, quick
sparkling eyes, plump, pregnant, ruby lips, with a mole on her
breast, and the perfect likeness of a heart-cherry on her left
knee." Ah, villain! ah, sly-cap! have I caught you? are you
there, i'faith? well, and what says she? Is she coming? do her
eyes betray her? does her heart beat, and her bubbies rise,
when you talk to her, ha?

_Beau._ Look you, Sir Jolly, all things considered, it may make
a shift to come to a marriage in time.

_Sir Jol._ I'll have nothing to do in it; I won't be seen in
the business of matrimony. Make me a match-maker, a filthy
marriage-broker! sir, I scorn it, I know better things. Look
you, friend, to carry her a letter from you or so, upon good
terms, though it be in a church, I'll deliver it; or when the
business is come to an issue, if I may bring you handsomely
together, and so forth, I'll serve thee with all my soul, and
thank thee into the bargain; thank thee heartily, dear rogue; I
will, you little cock-sparrow, faith and troth, I will: but no
matrimony, friend, I'll have nothing to do with matrimony; 'tis
a damned invention, worse than a monopoly, and a destroyer of
civil correspondence.

_Re-enter_ Drawer.

_Draw._ Gentlemen, your room is ready, your wine and ice upon
the table; will your honours please to walk in?

_Sir Jol._ Ay, wine, wine, give us wine! a pox on
matrimony--matrimony, in the devil's name!

_Cour._ But if an honest harlot or two chance to inquire for
us, friend--

_Sir Jol._ Right, sirrah, if whores come never so many, give
'em reverence and reception, but nothing else; let nothing but
whores and bottles come near us, as you tender your ears.

[_A door is opened, discovering a table, with bottles, &c._

_Beau._ Why, there's, there's the land of Canaan now in little.
Hark you, drawer, dog, shut, shut the door, sirrah, do you
hear? Shut it so close that neither cares nor necessities may
peep in upon us.

[_Exeunt_ BEAUGARD, COURTINE, _and_ Sir JOLLY.

_Enter_ Sir DAVY DUNCE, FOURBIN, _and_ BLOODY-BONES.

_Four._ Bloody-Bones, be sure to behave yourself handsomely,
and like your profession; show yourself a cut-throat of parts,
and we'll fleece him.

_Bloody-B._ My lady says, we must be expeditious; Sir Jolly has
given notice to the captain by this time, so that nothing is
wanting but the management of this over-grown gull to make us
hectors at large, and keep the whore Fortune under.

_Draw._ Welcome, gentlemen, very welcome, sir; will't please
you to walk into a room? Or shall I wait upon your honour's
pleasure here?

_Sir Dav._ Sweetheart, let us be quiet, and bring us wine
hither. [_Exit_ Drawer, _who returns with wine_.] So--[_sits
down_]--from this moment, war, war, and mortal dudgeon against
that enemy of my honour, and thief of my good name, called
Beaugard. You can cut a throat upon occasion you say, friend?

_Four._ Sir, cutting of throats is my hereditary vocation; my
father was hanged for cutting of throats before me, and my
mother for cutting of purses.

_Sir Dav._ No more to be said; my courage is mounted like a
little Frenchman upon a great horse, and I'll have him murdered.

_Four._ Sir! murdered you say, sir?

_Sir Dav._ Ay, murdered I say, sir; his face flayed off, and
nailed to a post in my great hall in the country, amongst all
the other trophies of wild beasts slain by our family since the
Conquest; there's never a whore-master's head there yet.

_Four._ Sir, for that let me recommend this worthy friend of
mine to your service; he's an industrious gentleman, and one
that will deserve your favour.

_Sir Dav._ He looks but something ruggedly, though, methinks.

_Four._ But, sir, his parts will atone for his person; forms
and fashions are the least of his study: he affects a sort of
philosophical negligence indeed; but, sir, make trial of him,
and you'll find him a person fit for the work of this world.

_Sir Dav._ What trade are you, friend?

_Bloody-B._ No trade at all, friend; I profess murder; rascally
butchers make a trade on't; 'tis a gentleman's divertisement.

_Sir Dav._ Do you profess murder?

_Bloody-B._ Yes, sir, 'tis my livelihood: I keep a wife and six
children by it.

_Sir Dav._ Then, sir, here's to you with all my heart. Would I
had done with these fellows! [_Aside._

_Four._ Well, sir, if you have any service for us, I desire
we may receive your gold and your instructions as soon as is
possible.

_Sir Dav._ Soft and fair, sweetheart; I love to see a little
how I lay out my money. Have you very good trading now-a-days
in your way, friend?

_Bloody-B._ In peaceable times a man may eat and drink
comfortably upon't: a private murder done handsomely is worth
money; but now that the nation's unsettled, there are so many
general undertakers, that 'tis grown almost a monopoly; you may
have a man murdered almost for little or nothing, and nobody
e'er know who did it neither.[43]

_Sir Dav._ Pray what countryman are you? where were you born,
most noble sir?

_Bloody-B._ Indeed, my country is foreign. I was born in
Argier[44]; my mother was an apostate Greek, my father a
renegado Englishman, who by oppressing of Christian slaves grew
rich; for which, when he lay sick, I murdered him one day in
his bed; made my escape to Malta, where, embracing the faith, I
had the honour given me to command a thousand horse aboard the
galleys of that state.

_Sir Dav._ O Lord, sir! my humble service to you again.

_Four._ He tells you, sir, but the naked truth.

_Sir Dav._ I doubt it not in the least, most worthy sir.--These
are devilish fellows, I'll warrant 'em.

[_Aside._

_Four._ War, friend, and shining honour has been our province,
till rusty peace reduced us to this base obscurity. Ah,
Bloody-Bones! ah, when thou and I commanded that party at the
siege of Philipsburg, where, in the face of the army, we took
the impenetrable half-moon!

_Bloody-B._ Half-moon, sir! by your favour 'twas a whole moon.

_Four._ Brother, thou art in the right; 'twas a full moon, and
such a moon, sir!

_Sir Dav._ I doubt it not in the least, gentlemen; but, in the
meanwhile, to our business.

_Four._ With all my heart, so soon as you please.

_Sir Dav._ Do you know this Beaugard? He's a devilish fellow, I
can tell you that; he's a captain.

_Four._ Has he a heart, think you, sir?

_Sir Dav._ Oh, like a lion! he fears neither God, man, nor
devil.

_Bloody-B._ I'll bring it you for your breakfast to-morrow. Did
you never eat a man's heart, sir?

_Sir Dav._ Eat a man's heart, friend?

_Four._ Ay, ay, a man's heart, sir; it makes absolutely the
best ragout in the world: I have eaten forty of 'em in my time
without bread.

_Sir Dav._ O Lord, a man's heart! my humble service to you
both, gentlemen.

_Bloody-B._ Why, your Algerine pirates eat nothing else at sea;
they have them always potted up like venison: your well-grown
Dutchman's heart makes an excellent dish with oil and pepper.

_Sir Dav._ O Lord, O Lord! friend, friend, a word with you: how
much must you and your companion have to do this business?

_Four._ What, and bring you the heart home to your house?

_Sir Dav._ No, no, keeping the heart for your own eating.--I'll
be rid of 'em as soon as possible I can.

[_Aside._

_Four._ You say, sir, he's a gentleman?

_Sir Dav._ Ay, such a sort of gentleman as are about this town:
the fellow has a pretty handsome outside; but I believe little
or no money in his pockets.

_Four._ Therefore we are like to have the honour to receive the
more from your worship's bounty.

_Bloody-B._ For my part, I care for no man's bounty: I expect
to have my bargain performed, and I'll make as good a one as I
can.

_Sir Dav._ Look you, friend, don't you be angry, friend; don't
be angry, friend, before you have occasion: you say you'll
have--let's see how much will you have now--I warrant the devil
and all, by your good will.

_Four._ Truly, Sir Davy, if, as you say, the man must be well
murdered, without any remorse or mercy, betwixt Turk and Jew,
'tis honestly worth two hundred pounds.

_Sir Dav._ Two hundred pounds! why, I'll have a physician shall
kill a whole family for half the money.

_Bloody-B._ Damme, sir, how do ye mean?

_Sir Dav._ Damme, sir, how do I mean? Damme, sir, not to part
with my money.

_Bloody-B._ Not part, brother?

_Four._ Brother, the wight is improvable, and this must not be
borne withal.

_Bloody-B._ Have I for this dissolved Circean charms?
Broke iron durance; whilst from these firm legs
The well-filed, useless fetters dropped away,
And left me master of my native freedom?

_Sir Dav._ What does he mean now?

_Four._ Truly, sir, I am sorry to see it with all my heart;
'tis a distraction that frequently seizes him, though I am
sorry it should happen so unluckily at this time.

_Sir Dav._ Distracted, say you? is he so apt to be distracted?

_Four._ Oh, sir, raging mad; we that live by murder are all so;
guilt will never let us sleep. I beseech you, sir, stand clear
of him; he's apt to be very mischievous at these unfortunate
hours.

_Bloody-B._ Have I been drunk with tender infants' blood,
And ripped up teeming wombs? Have these bold hands
Ransacked the temples of the gods, and stabbed
The priests before their altars? Have I done this? ha!

_Sir Dav._ No, sir, not that I know, sir; I would not say any
such thing for all the world, sir. Worthy gentleman, I beseech
you, sir--you seem to be a civil person--I beseech you, sir, to
mitigate his passion. I'll do anything in the world; you shall
command my whole estate.

_Four._ Nay, after all, sir, if you have not a mind to have him
quite murdered, if a swingeing drubbing to bed-rid him, or so,
will serve your turn, you may have it at a cheaper rate a great
deal.

_Sir Dav._ Truly, sir, with all my heart; for methinks, now I
consider matters better, I would not by any means be guilty of
another man's blood.

_Four._ Why, then let me consider: to have him beaten
substantially, a beating that will stick by him, will cost
you--half the money.

_Sir Dav._ What, one hundred pounds! sure the devil's in you,
or you would not be so unconscionable.

_Bloody-B._ The devil! where? where is the devil? show me;
I'll tell thee, Beelzebub, thou'st broke thy covenant;
Didst thou not promise me eternal plenty,
When I resigned my soul to thy allurements?

_Sir Dav._ Ah, Lord!

_Bloody-B._ Touch me not yet; I've yet ten thousand murders
To act before I'm thine: with all those sins
I'll come with full damnation to thy caverns
Of endless pain, and howl with thee for ever.

_Sir Dav._ Bless us! what will become of this mortal body of
mine? Where am I? is this a house? do I live? am I flesh and
blood?

_Bloody-B._ There, there's the fiend again! don't chatter so,
And grin at me; if thou must needs have prey,
Take here, take him, this tempter that would bribe me,
With shining gold,
To stain my hands with new iniquity.

_Sir Dav._ Stand off, I charge thee, Satan, wheresoe'er thou
art; thou hast no right nor claim to me; I'll have thee bound
in necromantic charms. Hark you, friend, has the gentleman
given his soul to the devil?

_Four._ Only pawned it a little; that's all.

_Sir Dav._ Let me beseech you, sir, to despatch, and get rid
of him as soon as you can. I would gladly drink a bottle with
you, sir, but I hate the devil's company mortally: as for the
hundred pound here, it is ready; no more words, I'll submit to
your good-nature and discretion.

_Four._ Then, wretch, take this, and make thy peace with the
infernal king; he loves riches; sacrifice and be at rest.

_Bloody-B._ 'Tis done, I'll follow thee, lead on; nay, if thou
smile, I more defy thee; fee, fa, fum. [_Exit._

_Four._ 'Tis very odd, this.

_Sir Dav._ Very odd, indeed; I'm glad he's gone, though.

_Four._ Now, sir, if you please, we'll refresh ourselves with a
cheerful glass, and so _chacun chez lui_--I would fain make the
gull drunk a little, to put a little mettle into him. [_Aside._

_Sir Dav._ With all my heart, sir; but no more words of the
devil, if you love me.

_Four._ The devil's an ass, sir, and here's a health to all
those that defy the devil.

_Sir Dav._ With all my heart, and all his works too.

_Four._ Nay, sir, you must do me right,[45] I assure you.

_Sir Dav._ Not so full, not so full, that's too much of all
conscience: in troth, friend, these are sad times, very sad
times; but here's to you.

_Four._ Pox o' the times! the times are well enough, so long as
a man has money in his pocket.

_Sir Dav._ 'Tis true, here I have been bargaining with you
about a murder, but never consider that idolatry is coming in
full speed upon the nation. Pray what religion are you of,
friend?

_Four._ What religion am I of, sir? Sir, your humble servant.

_Sir Dav._ Truly a good conscience is a great happiness; and so
I'll pledge you, hemph, hemph. But shan't the dog be murdered
this night?

_Four._ My brother rogue is gone by this time to set him, and
the business shall be done effectually, I'll warrant you.
Here's rest his soul.

_Sir Dav._ With all my heart, faith; I hate to be uncharitable.

_Re-enter_ COURTINE _and_ Drawer.

_Cour._ Look you, 'tis a very impudent thing not to be drunk by
this time: shall rogues stay in taverns to sip pints, and be
sober, when honest gentlemen are drunk by gallons? I'll have
none on't.

_Sir Dav._ O Lord, who's there? [_Sits up in his chair._

_Draw._ I beseech your honour--our house will be utterly ruined
by this means.

_Cour._ Damn your house, your wife and children, and all your
family, you dog!--Sir, who are you?

[_To_ Sir DAVY.

_Sir Dav._ Who am I, sir? what's that to you, sir? Will you
tickle my foot, you rogue?

_Cour._ I'll tickle your guts, you poltroon, presently.

_Sir Dav._ Tickle my guts, you mad-cap! I'll tickle your toby,
if you do.

_Cour._ What, with that circumcised band? that grave
hypocritical beard, of the reformation-cut? Old fellow, I
believe you are a rogue.

_Sir Dav._ Sirrah, you are a whore, an arrant bitch-whore; I'll
use you like a whore; I'll kiss you, you jade; I'll ravish you,
you buttock; I am a justice of the peace, sirrah, and that's
worse.

_Cour._ Damn you, sir, I care not if you were a constable and
all his watch: what, such a rogue as you send honest fellows
to prison, and countenance whores in your jurisdiction for
bribery, you mongrel! I'll beat you, sirrah, I'll brain you;
I'll murder you, you mooncalf! [_Throws the chair after him._

_Sir Dav._ Sir, sir, sir! constable! watch! stocks! stocks!
stocks! murder! [_Exit._

_Cour._ Huzza, Beaugard!

_Re-enter_ BEAUGARD _and_ Sir JOLLY JUMBLE.

_Four._ Well, sir, the business is done; we have bargained to
murder you.

_Beau._ Murdered! who's to be murdered, ha, Fourbin?

_Sir Jol._ You are to be murdered, friend; you shall be
murdered, friend.

_Beau._ But how am I to be murdered? who's to murder me, I
beseech you?

_Four._ Your humble servant, Fourbin; I am the man, with your
worship's leave: Sir Davy has given me this gold to do it
handsomely.

_Beau._ Sir Davy! uncharitable cur; what! murder an honest
fellow for being civil to his family! What can this mean,
gentlemen?

_Sir Jol._ No, 'tis for not being civil to his family, that it
means, gentlemen; therefore are you to be murdered to-night,
and buried a-bed with my lady, you Jack Straw, you.

_Beau._ I understand you, friends; the old gentleman has
designed to have me butchered, and you have kindly contrived
to turn it to my advantage in the affair of love. I am to be
murdered but as it were, gentlemen, ha? [_Exit_ COURTINE.

_Four._ Your honour has a piercing judgment. Sir, Captain
Courtine's gone.

_Beau._ No matter, let him go: he has a design to put in
practice this night too, and would perhaps but spoil ours. But
when, Sir Jolly, is this business to be brought about?

_Sir Jol._ Presently; 'tis more than time 'twere done already.
Go, get you gone, I say. Hold, hold, let's see your left ear
first, hum--ha--you are a rogue, you're a rogue; get you gone,
get you gone, go. [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.--_Outside_ Sir DAVY DUNCE'S _House_.

_Enter_ SYLVIA _and her_ Maid _in the Balcony_.

_Maid._ But why, madam, will you use him so inhumanly? I'm
confident he loves you.

_Sylv._ Oh! a true lover is to be found out like a true saint,
by the trial of his patience. Have you the cords ready?

_Maid._ Here they are, madam.

_Sylv._ Let them down, and be sure, when it comes to trial, to
pull lustily. Is Will the footman ready?

_Will._ [_Within_] At your ladyship's command, madam.

_Sylv._ I wonder he should stay so long; the clock has struck
twelve.

_Enter_ COURTINE, _singing_.

And was she not frank and free,
And was she not kind to me,
To lock up her cat in her cupboard,
And give her key to me, to me?
To lock up her cat in her cupboard,
And give her key to me?

_Sylv._ This must be he: ay, 'tis he, and, as I am a virgin,
roaring drunk; but, if I find not a way to make him sober--

_Cour._ Here, here's the window: ay, that's hell-door, and my
damnation's in the inside. Sylvia, Sylvia, Sylvia! dear imp of
Satan, appear to thy servant.

_Sylv._ Who calls on Sylvia in this dead of night,
When rest is wanting to her longing eyes?

_Cour._ 'Tis a poor wretch can hardly stand upright,
Drunk with thy love, and if he falls he lies.

_Sylv._ Courtine, is't you?

_Cour._ Yes, sweetheart, 'tis I; art thou ready for me?

_Sylv._ Fasten yourself to that cord there; there, there it is.

_Cour._ Cord! where? Oh, oh, here, here; so, now to Heaven in a
string.

_Sylv._ Have you done?

_Cour._ Yes, I have done, child, and would fain be doing too,
hussy.

_Sylv._ [_To_ WILL, _within_.] Then pull away, hoa up, hoa up,
hoa up! So, avast there, sir!

[COURTINE _is drawn halfway up to the balcony_.

_Cour._ Madam!

_Sylv._ Are you very much in love, sir?

_Cour._ Oh, damnably, child, damnably.

_Sylv._ I am sorry for't with all my heart: good-night, captain.

_Cour._ Ha, gone! what, left in Erasmus' paradise, between
Heaven and hell? If the constable should take me now for a
straggling monkey hung by the loins, and hunt me with his cry
of watchmen? Ah, woman, woman, woman! Well, a merry life and a
short, that's all.

[_Sings_] God prosper long our noble king,
Our lives and safeties all!

I am mighty loyal to-night.

_Enter_ FOURBIN _and_ BLOODY-BONES, _as from_
Sir DAVY DUNCE'S _House_.

_Four._ Murder, murder, murder! help, help, murder!

_Cour._ Nay, if there be murder stirring, 'tis high time to
shift for myself. [_Climbs up to the balcony._

_Sylv._ [_Squeaking._] Ah! [_Exeunt_ SYLVIA _and_ COURT.

_Bloody-B._ Yonder, yonder he comes; murder, murder, murder!

[_Exeunt_ BLOODY-BONES _and_ FOURBIN.

_Enter_ Sir DAVY DUNCE.

_Sir Dav._ 'Tis very late; but murder is a melancholy business,
and night is fit for't. I'll go home. [_Knocks._

_Ver._ [_Within._] Who's there?

_Sir Dav._ Who's there! open the door, you whelp of Babylon.

_Ver._ Oh, sir! you're welcome home; but here is the saddest
news! here has been murder committed, sir.

_Sir Dav._ Hold your tongue, you fool, and go to sleep; get you
in, do you hear? you talk of murder, you rogue? you meddle with
state affairs? get you in. [_Exit._

SCENE III.--_The Entrance Hall in the same._

Sir JOLLY JUMBLE _and_ Lady DUNCE _discovered putting_
BEAUGARD _in order, as if he were dead_.

_Sir Jol._ Lie still, lie still, you knave, close, close, when
I bid you: you had best quest,[46] and spoil the sport, you had!

_Beau._ But pray how long must I lie thus?

_L. Dunce._ I'll warrant you you'll think the time mighty
tedious.

_Beau._ Sweet creature, who can counterfeit death when you are
near him?

_Sir Jol._ You shall, sirrah, if a body desires you a little,
so you shall; we shall spoil all else, all will be spoiled
else, man, if you do not: stretch out longer, longer yet, as
long as ever you can. So, so, hold your breath, hold your
breath; very well.

_Enter_ Maid.

_Maid._ Madam, here comes Sir Davy.

_Sir Jol._ Odds so, now close again as I told you, close, you
devil; now stir if you dare; stir but any part about you if you
dare now; odd, I'll hit you such a rap if you do! Lie still,
lie you still.

_Enter_ Sir DAVY DUNCE.

_Sir Dav._ My dear, how dost thou do, my dear? I am come.

_L. Dunce._ Ah, sir, what is't you've done? you've ruined me;
your family, your fortune, all is ruined; where shall we go, or
whither shall we fly?

_Sir Dav._ Where shall we go! why, we'll go to bed, you little
jackadandy: why, you are not a wench, you rogue, you are a boy,
a very boy, and I love you the better for't: sirrah, hey!

_L. Dunce._ Ah, sir, see there.

_Sir Dav._ Bless us! a man! and bloody! what, upon my
hall-table!

_L. Dunce._ Two ruffians brought him in just now, pronouncing
the inhuman deed was done by your command: Sir Jolly came in
the same minute, or sure I had died with my distracting fears.
How could you think on a revenge so horrid?

_Sir Dav._ As I hope to be saved, neighbour, I only bargained
with them to bastinado him in a way, or so, as one friend might
do to another: but do you say that he is dead?

_Sir Jol._ Dead, dead as clay; stark stiff and useless all,
nothing about him stirring, but all's cold and still. I knew
him a lusty fellow once, a very mettled fellow; 'tis a thousand
pities!

_Sir Dav._ What shall I do? I'll throw myself upon him, kiss
his wide wounds, and weep till blind as buzzard.

_L. Dunce._ Oh, come not near him; there's such horrid
antipathy follows all murders, his wounds would stream afresh
should you but touch him.[47]

_Sir Dav._ Dear neighbour, dearest neighbour, friend, Sir
Jolly, as you love charity, pity my wretched case, and give me
counsel; I'll give my wife and all my estate to have him live
again; or shall I bury him in the arbour, at the upper end of
the garden?

_Sir Jol._ Alas-a-day, neighbour, never think on't, never think
on't; the dogs will find him there, as they scrape holes to
bury bones in; there is but one way that I know of.

_Sir Dav._ What is it, dear neighbour, what is it? You see I am
upon my knees to you; take all I have and ease me of my fears.

_Sir Jol._ Truly the best thing that I can think of is putting
of him to bed, putting him into a warm bed, and try to fetch
him to life again; a warm bed is the best thing in the world.
My lady may do much too, she's a good woman, and, as I've been
told, understands a green wound well.

_Sir Dav._ My dear, my dear, my dear!

_L. Dunce._ Bear me away! oh, send me hence far off, where my
unhappy name may be a stranger, and this sad accident no more
remembered to my dishonour!

_Sir Dav._ Ah, but my love! my joy! are there no bowels in thee?

_L. Dunce._ What would you have me do?

_Sir Dav._ Pr'ythee do so much as try thy skill; there may be
one dram of life left in him yet. Take him up to thy chamber,
put him into thy own bed, and try what thou canst do with him;
pr'ythee do: if thou canst but find motion in him, all may be
well yet. I'll go up to my closet in the garret, and say my
prayers in the mean while.

_L. Dunce._ Will ye then leave this ruin on my hands?

_Sir Dav._ Pray, pray, my dear; I beseech you, neighbour, help
to persuade her if it be possible.

_Sir Jol._ Faith, madam, do, try what you can do. I have a
great fancy you may do him good; who can tell but you may have
the gift of stroking? Pray, madam, be persuaded.

_L. Dunce._ I'll do whate'er's your pleasure.

_Sir Dav._ That's my best dear: I'll go to my closet and pray
for thee heartily. Alas, alas, that ever this should happen!
[_Exit._

_Beau._ So, is he gone, madam, my angel?

_Sir Jol._ What, no thanks, no reward for old Jolly now?
Come hither, hussy, you little canary-bird, you little
hop-o'-my-thumb, come hither: make me a curtsey, and give me a
kiss now, ha! give me a kiss, I say; odd, I will have a kiss,
so I will, I will have a kiss if I set on't. Shoogh, shoogh,
shoogh, get you into a corner when I bid you, shoogh, shoogh,
shoogh--what, there already? [_She goes to_ BEAUGARD.] Well, I
ha' done, I ha' done; this 'tis to be an old fellow now.

_Beau._ And will you save the life of him you've wounded?

_L. Dunce._ Dare you trust yourself to my skill for a cure?
[Sir DAVY _appears at a window above_.

_Sir Jol._ Hist! hist! Close, close, I say again; yonder's Sir
Davy, odds so!

_Sir Dav._ My dear! my dear! my dear!

_L. Dunce._ Who's that calls? my love, is't you?

_Sir Dav._ Ay, some comfort or my heart's broke! are there any
hopes yet? I've tried to say my prayers, and cannot: if he be
quite dead, I shall never pray again! Neighbour, no hopes?

_Sir Jol._ Truly little or none; some small pulse I think there
is left, very little: there's nothing to be done if you don't
pray: get you to prayers whatever you do. Get you gone; nay,
don't stay now, shut the window, I tell you.

_Sir Dav._ Well, this is a great trouble to me; but good-night.
[_Retires._

_Sir Jol._ Good-night to you, dear neighbour.--Get ye up, get
ye up, and begone into the next room presently, make haste.
[_To_ BEAUGARD _and_ Lady DUNCE.] But don't steal away till
I come to you; be sure ye remember, don't ye stir till I
come--pish, none of this bowing and fooling, it but loses time;
I'll only bolt the door that belongs to Sir Davy's lodgings,
that he may be safe, and be with you in a twinkle. Ah--so, now
for the door; very well, friend, you are fast.

[_Bolts the door and sings._

Bonny lass, gan thoo wert mine,
And twonty thoosand poonds aboot thee, &c. [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[41] Louis XIV.

[42] Take it off.

[43] This probably refers to the supposed murder, in 1678, of Sir Edmundsbury Godfrey, the magistrate before whom Titus Oates made his incredible depositions concerning the alleged Popish plot. Many believed it was a case of suicide. He was found pierced through with his own sword on Primrose Hill. But the infamous Bedloe, a convicted felon, and accomplice of Titus Oates, accused Queen Catharine's Catholic servants of murdering Godfrey in Somerset House, where the queen then resided, and so struck at the queen herself. Oates and he afterwards accused her of conspiring to murder the king. But Charles was not so mad and bad as to believe them. Godfrey had warned one of the denounced persons, Coleman, and the murder, if it was one, is now generally attributed to the Ultra-Protestant faction. At any rate, they used the incident to inflame the public mind against the Roman Catholics.

[44] Algiers.

[45] _i.e._ Drink to him.

[46] Sporting dogs used to be called "questing hounds" (see Malory, for instance), and a hound may run forward in pursuit at the wrong moment. This is evidently the allusion here.

[47] An allusion to the common superstition that if the murderer touched the dead body the wounds would commence to bleed afresh.