Chapter II: Part 2

_Wid._ You are very credulous, and somewhat desperate, to deliver this Sir, to her you know not, but you shall confess me, and find I will not start; in us all meetings lie open to these lewd reports, and our thoughts at Church, our very meditations some will swear, which all should fear to judge, at least uncharitably, are mingled with your memories, cannot sleep, but this sweet Gentleman swims in our fancies, that scarlet man of war, and that smooth senior; not dress our heads without new ambushes, how to surprize that greatness, or that glorie; our very smiles are subject to constructions; nay Sir, it's come to this we cannot pish, but 'tis a favour for some fool or other: should we examine you thus, wer't not possible to take you without Perspectives?

[_Val._] It may be, but these excuse not.

_Wid._ Nor yours force no truth Sir, what deadly tongues you have, and to those tongues what hearts, and what inventions? O' my conscience, and 'twere not for sharp justice, you would venture to aim at your own mothers, and account it glorie to say you had done so: all you think are counsels, and cannot erre, 'tis we still that shew double, giddy, or gorg'd with passion; we that build Babels for mens conclusions, we that scatter, as day does his warm light; our killing curses over Gods creatures, next to the devils malice: lets intreat your good words.

_Val._ Well, this woman has a brave soul.

_Wid._ Are not we gaily blest then, and much beholding to you for your substance? you may do what you list, we what beseems us, and narrowly do that too, and precisely, our names are served in else at Ordinaries, and belcht abroad in Taverns.

_Val._ O most brave Wench, and able to redeem an age of women.

_Wid._ You are no Whoremasters? Alas, no, Gentlemen, it were an impudence to think you vicious: you are so holy, handsome Ladies fright you, you are the cool things of the time, the temperance, meer Emblems of the Law, and veils of Vertue, you are not daily mending like Dutch Watches, and plastering like old Walls; they are not Gentlemen, that with their secret sins increase our Surgeons, and lie in Foraign Countries, for new sores; Women are all these Vices; you are not envious, false, covetous, vain-glorious, irreligious, drunken, revengeful, giddie-eyed like Parrots, eaters of others honours.

_Val._ You are angry.

_Wid._ No by my troth, and yet I could say more too, for when men make me angry, I am miserable.

_Val._ Sure 'tis a man, she could not bear it thus bravely else, it may be I am tedious.

_Wid._ Not at all, Sir, I am content at this time you should trouble me.

_Val._ You are distrustful.

_Wid._ Where I find no truth, Sir.

_Val._ Come, come, you are full of passion.

_Wid._ Some I have, I were too near the nature o' God else.

_Val._ You are monstrous peevish.

_Wid._ Because they are monstrous foolish, and know not how to use that should try me.

_Val._ I was never answered thus; were you never drunk Lady?

_Wid._ No sure, not drunk, Sir; yet I love good Wine, as I love health and joy of heart, but temperately, why do you ask that question?

_Val._ For that sin that they most charge you with, is this sin's servant, they say you are monstrous--

_Wid._ What, Sir, what?

_Pal._ Most strangely.

_Wid._ It has a name sure?

_Pal._ Infinitely lustful, without all bounds, they swear you kill'd your Husband.

_Wid._ Let us have it all for Heavens sake, 'tis good mirth, Sir.

_Val._ They say you will have four now, and those four stuck in four quarters, like four winds to cool you: will she not cry nor curse?

_Wid._ On with your story.

_Val._ And that you are forcing out of dispensations with sums of money to that purpose.

_Wid._ Four Husbands! should not I be blest, Sir, for example? Lord, what should I do with them? turn a Malt-mill, or Tithe them out like Town-bulls to my Tenants, you come to make me angry, but you cannot.

_Val._ I'le make you merry then, you are a brave Woman, and in despite of envy a right one, go thy wayes, truth thou art as good a Woman, as any Lord of them all can lay his Leg over, I do not often commend your Sex.

_Wid._ It seems so, your commendations are so studied for.

_Val._ I came to see you and sift you into Flowr to know your pureness, and I have found you excellent, I thank you; continue so, and shew men how to tread, and women how to follow: get an Husband, an honest man, you are a good woman, and live hedg'd in from scandal, let him be too an understanding man, and to that stedfast; 'tis pity your fair Figure should miscarry, and then [you] are fixt: farewel.

_Wid._ Pray stay a little, I love your company now you are so pleasant, and to my disposition set so even.

_Val._ I can no longer. [_Exit._

_Wid._ As I live a fine fellow, this manly handsome bluntness shews him honest; what is he, or from whence? bless me, four Husbands! how prettily he fooled me into Vices, to stir my jealousie, and find my nature; a proper Gentleman: I am not well o'th' sudden, such a companion I could live and dye with, his angers are meer mirth.

_Enter_ Isabella.

_Isa._ Come, come, I am ready.

_Wid._ Are you so?

_Isa._ What ails she? the Coach stales, and the people, the day goes on, I am as ready now as you desire, Sister: fie, who stays now, why do you sit and pout thus?

_Wid._ Prethee be quiet, I am not well.

_Isa._ For Heav'us sake let's not ride staggering in the night, come, pray you take some Sweet-meats in your pocket, if your stomach--

_Wid._ I have a little business.

_Isab._ To abuse me, you shall not find new dreams, and new suspicions, to horse withal.

_Wid._ Lord who made you a Commander! hey ho, my heart.

_Isab._ Is the wind come thither, and Coward like, do you lose your Colours to 'em? are you sick o'th' _Valentine_? sweet Sister, come let's away, the Country will so quicken you, and we shall live so sweetly: _Luce_, my Ladies Cloak; nay, you have put me into such a gog of going, I would not stay for all the world; if I live here, you have so knock'd this love into my head, that I shall love any body, and I find my body, I know not how, so apt--pray let's be gone, Sister, I stand on thorns.

_Wid._ I prethee _Isabella_, i'faith I have some business that concerns me, I will suspect no more, here, wear that for me, and I'le pay the hundred pound you owe your Taylor.

_Enter_ Shorthose, Roger, Humphrey, Ralph.

_Isab._ I had rather go, but--

_Wid._ Come walk in with me, we'll go to Cards, unsaddle the Horses.

_Short._ A Jubile, a Jubile, we stay, Boys.

_Enter_ Uncle, Lan. Foun. Bella. Harebrain _following_.

_Unc._ Are they behind us?

_Lan._ Close, close, speak aloud, Sir.

_Unc._ I am glad my Nephew has so much discretion, at length to find his wants: did she entertain him?

_Lance._ Most bravely, nobly, and gave him such a welcome!

_Unc._ For his own sake do you think?

_Lance._ Most certain, Sir, and in his own cause bestir'd himself too, and wan such liking from her, she dotes on him, h'as the command of all the house already.

_Unc._ He deals not well with his friends.

_Lance._ Let him deal on, and be his own friend, he has most need of her.

_Unc._ I wonder they would put him--

_Lan._ You are in the right on't, a man that must raise himself, I knew he would couzen 'em, and glad I am he has: he watched occasion, and found it i'th' nick.

_Unc._ He has deceived me.

_Lan._ I told you howsoever he wheel'd about, he would charge home at length: how I could laugh now, to think of these tame fools!

_Unc._ 'Twas not well done, because they trusted him, yet.

_Bel._ Hark you Gentlemen.

_Unc._ We are upon a business, pray excuse us, they have it home.

_Lane._ Come let it work good on Gentlemen.

[_Exeunt_ Uncle, Lance.

_Font._ 'Tis true, he is a knave, I ever thought it.

_Hare._ And we are fools, tame fools.

_Bell._ Come let's go seek him, he shall be hang'd before he colt us basely. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Isabella, Luce.

_Isab._ Art sure she loves him?

_Luce._ Am I sure I live? and I have clapt on such a commendation on your revenge.

_Isab._ Faith, he is a pretty Gentleman.

_Luce._ Handsome enough, and that her eye has found out.

_Isa._ He talks the best they say, and yet the maddest.

_Luce._ H'as the right way.

_Isa._ How is she?

_Luce._ Bears it well, as if she cared not, but a man may see with half an eye through all her forced behaviour, and find who is her _Valentine_.

_Isa._ Come let's go see her, I long to prosecute.

_Luce._ By no means Mistress, let her take better hold first.

_Isab._ I could burst now. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Valentine, Fountain, Bellamore, Harebrain.

_Val._ Upbraid me with your benefits, you Pilchers, you shotten, sold, slight fellows? was't not I that undertook you first from empty barrels, and brought those barking mouths that gaped like bung-holes to utter sence? where got you understanding? who taught you manners and apt carriage to rank your selves? who filled you in fit Taverns? were those born with your worships when you came hither? what brought you from the Universities of moment matter to allow you, besides your small base sentences?

_Bell._ 'Tis well, Sir.

_Val._ Long Cloaks with two-hand-rapiers, boot-hoses with penny-poses, and twenty fools opinions, who looked on you but piping rites that knew you would be prizing, and Prentices in Paul's Church-yard, that scented your want of _Britains_ Books.

_Enter_ Widow, Luce, Hairbrain.

_Font._ This cannot save you.

_Val._ Taunt my integrity you Whelps?

_Bell._ You may talk the stock we gave you out, but see no further.

_Hair._ You tempt our patience, we have found you out, and what your trust comes to, ye're well feathered, thank us, and think now of an honest course, 'tis time; men now begin to look, and narrowly into your tumbling tricks, they are stale.

_Wid._ Is not that he?

_Luce._ 'Tis he.

_Wid._ Be still and mark him.

_Val._ How miserable will these poor wretches be when I forsake 'em! but things have their necessities, I am sorry, to what a vomit must they turn again, now to their own dear Dunghil breeding; never hope after I cast you off, you men of _Motley_, you most undone things below pity, any that has a soul and six-pence dares relieve you, my name shall bar that blessing, there's your Cloak, Sir, keep it close to you, it may yet preserve you a fortnight longer from the fool; your Hat, pray be covered, and there's the Sattin that your Worship sent me, will serve you at a Sizes yet.

_Fount._ Nay, faith Sir, you may e'ne rub these out now.

_Val._ No such relique, nor the least rag of such a sordid weakness shall keep me warm, these Breeches are mine own, purchased, and paid for, without your compassion, a Christian Breeches founded in Black-Friers, and so I'le maintain 'em.

_Hare._ So they seem, Sir.

_Val._ Only the thirteen shillings in these Breeches, and the odd groat, I take it, shall be yours, Sir, a mark to know a Knave by, pray preserve it, do not displease more, but take it presently, now help me off with my Boots.

_Hare._ We are no Grooms, Sir.

_Val._ For once you shall be, do it willingly, or by this hand I'le make you.

_Bell._ To our own, Sir, we may apply our hands.

_Val._ There's your Hangers, you may deserve a strong pair, and a girdle will hold you without buckles; now I am perfect, and now the proudest of your worships tell me I am beholding to you.

_Fount._ No such matter.

_Val._ And take heed how you pity me, 'tis dangerous, exceeding dangerous, to prate of pity; which are the poorer? you are now puppies; I without you, or you without my knowledge? be Rogues, and so be gone, be Rogues and reply not, for if you do--

_Bell._ Only thus much, and then we'll leave you: the Air is far sharper than our anger, Sir, and these you may reserve to rail in warmer.

_Hare._ Pray have a care, Sir, of your health. [_Ex. Lovers._

_Val._ Yes Hog-hounds, more than you can have of your wits; 'tis cold, and I am very sensible, extreamly cold too, yet I will not off, till I have shamed these Rascals; I have indured as ill heats as another, and every way if one could perish my body, you'll bear the blame on't; I am colder here, not a poor penny left.

_Enter_ Uncle _with a Bag_.

_Unc._ 'Thas taken rarely, and now he's flead he will be ruled.

_Lan._ To him, tew him, abuse him, and nip him close.

_Unc._. Why how now, Cousin, sunning your self this weather?

_Val._ As you see, Sir, in a hot fit, I thank my friends.

_Unc._ But Cousin, where are your Cloaths man? those are no inheritance, your scruple may compound with those I take it, this is no fashion, Cousin.

_Val._ Not much followed, I must confess; yet Uncle I determine to try what may be done next Term.

_Lance._ How came you thus, Sir, for you are strangely moved.

_Val._ Rags, toys and trifles, fit only for those fools that first possessed 'em, a[n]d to those Knaves they are rendred. Freemen, Uncle, ought to appear like innocents, old _Adam_, a fair Fig-leaf sufficient.

_Unc._ Take me with you, were these your friends, that clear'd you thus?

_Val._ Hang friends, and even reckonings that make friends.

_Unc._ I thought till now, there had been no such living, no such purchase, for all the rest is labour, as a list of honourable friends; do such men as you, Sir, in lieu of all your understandings, travels, and those great gifts of nature, aim at no more than casting off your Coats? I am strangely cozen'd.

_Lance._ Should not the Town shake at the cold you feel now, and all the Gentry suffer interdiction, no more sense spoken, all things _Goth_ and _Vandal_, till you be summed again, Velvets and Scarlets, anointed with gold Lace, and Cloth of silver turned into _Spanish_ Cottens for a penance, wits blasted with your Bulls and Taverns withered, as though the Term lay at _St. Albans_?

_Val._ Gentlemen, you have spoken long and level, I beseech you take breath a while and hear me; you imagine now, by the twirling of your strings, that I am at the last, as also that my friends are flown like Swallows after Summer.

_Unc._ Yes, Sir.

_Val._ And that I have no more in this poor Pannier, to raise me up again above your rents, Uncle.

_Unc._ All this I do believe.

_Val._ You have no mind to better me.

_Unc._ Yes, Cousin, and to that end I come, and once more offer you all that my power is master of.

_Val._ A match then, lay me down fifty pounds there.

_Unc._ There it is, Sir.

_Val._ And on it write, that you are pleased to give this, as due unto my merit, without caution of land redeeming, tedious thanks, or thrift hereafter to be hoped for.

_Unc._ How? [Luce _lays a Suit and Letter at the door._

_Val._ Without daring, when you are drunk, to relish of revilings, to which you are prone in Sack, Uncle.

_Unc._ I thank you, Sir.

_Lance._ Come, come away, let the young wanton play a while, away I say, Sir, let him go forward with his naked fashion, he will seek you too morrow; goodly weather, sultry hot, sultry, how I sweat!

_Unc._ Farewel, Sir. [_Exeunt_ Uncle _and_ Lance.

_Val._ Would I sweat too, I am monstrous vext, and cold too; and these are but thin pumps to walk the streets in; clothes I must get, this fashion will not fadge with me; besides, 'tis an ill winter wear,--What art thou? yes, they are clothes, and rich ones, some fool has left 'em: and if I should utter--what's this paper here? Let these be only worn by the most noble and deserving Gentleman _Valentine,_--dropt out o'th' clouds! I think they are full of gold too; well, I'le leave my wonder, and be warm again, in the next house I'le shift. [_Exit._

_Actus Quartus. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Francisco, Uncle, _and_ Lance.

_Fran._ Why do you deal thus with him? 'tis unnobly.

_Unc._ Peace Cousin peace, you are too tender of him, he must be dealt thus with, he must be cured thus, the violence of his disease _Francisco,_ must not be jested with, 'tis grown infectious, and now strong Corrosives must cure him.

_Lance._ H'as had a stinger, has eaten off his clothes, the next his skin comes.

_Unc._ And let it search him to the bones, 'tis better, 'twill make him feel it.

_Lance._ Where be his noble friends now? will his fantastical opinions cloath him, or the learned Art of having nothing feed him?

_Unc._ It must needs greedily, for all his friends have flung him off, he is naked, and where to skin himself again, if I know, or can devise how he should get himself lodging, his Spirit must be bowed, and now we have him, have him at that we hoped for.

_Lance._ Next time we meet him cracking of nuts, with half a cloak about him, for all means are cut off, or borrowing sixpence, to shew his bounty in the pottage Ordinary?

_Fran._ Which way went he?

_Lance._ Pox, why should you ask after him, you have been trimm'd already, let him take his fortune, [he] spun it out himself, Sir, there's no pitie.

_Unc._ Besides some good to you now, from this miserie.

_Fran._ I rise upon his ruines! fie, fie, Uncle, fie honest _Lance._ Those Gentlemen were base people, that could so soon take fire to his destruction.

_Unc._ You are a fool, you are a fool, a young man.

_Enter_ Valentine.

_Val._ Morrow Uncle, morrow _Frank_, sweet _Frank_, and how, and how d'ee, think now, how shew matters? morrow Bandog.

_Unc._ How?

_Fran._ Is this man naked, forsaken of his friends?

_Val._ Th'art handsom, _Frank_, a pretty Gentleman, i'faith thou lookest well, and yet here may be those that look as handsom.

_Lance._ Sure he can conjure, and has the Devil for his Tailor.

_Unc._ New and rich! 'tis most impossible he should recover.

_Lan._ Give him this luck, and fling him into the Sea.

_Unc._ 'Tis not he, imagination cannot work this miracle.

_Val._ Yes, yes, 'tis he, I will assure you Uncle, the very he, the he your wisdom plaid withall, I thank you for't, neighed at his nakednesse, and made his cold and poverty your pastime; you see I live, and the best can do no more Uncle, and though I have no state, I keep the streets still, and take my pleasure in the Town, like a poor Gentleman, wear clothes to keep me warm, poor things they serve me, can make a shew too if I list, yes uncle, and ring a peal in my pockets, ding dong, uncle, these are mad foolish wayes, but who can help 'em?

_Unc._ I am amazed.

_Lan._ I'le sell my Copyhold, for since there are such excellent new nothings, why should I labour? is there no Fairy haunts him, no Rat, nor no old woman?

_Unc._ You are _Valentine_.

_Val._ I think so, I cannot tell, I have been call'd so, and some say Christened, why do you wonder at me, and swell, as if you had met a Sergeant fasting, did you ever know desert want? y'are fools, a little stoop there may be to allay him, he would grow too rank else, a small eclipse to shadow him, but out he must break, glowingly again, and with a great lustre, look you uncle, motion and majesty.

_Unc._ I am confounded.

_Fran._ I am of his faith.

_Val._ Walk by his careless kinsman, and turn again and walk, and look thus Uncle, taking some one by the hand, he loves best, leave them to the mercy of the hog-market, come _Frank_, Fortune is now my friend, let me instruct thee.

_Fran._ Good morrow Uncle, I must needs go with him.

_Val._ Flay me, and turn me out where none inhabits, within two hours I shall be thus again, now wonder on, and laugh at your own ignorance. [_Ex._ Val. _and_ Franc.

_Unc._ I do believe him.

_Lan._ So do I, and heartily upon my conscience, burie him stark naked, he would rise again, within two hours imbroidered: sow mustard-seeds, and they cannot come up so thick as his new sattens do, and clothes of silver, there's no striving.

_Unc._ Let him play a while then, and let's search out what hand:--

_Lan._ I, there the game lies. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Fountain, Bellamore, _and_ Harebrain.

_Foun._ Come, let's speak for our selves, we have lodg'd him sure enough, his nakedness dare no[t] peep out to cross us.

_Bel._ We can have no admittance.

_Hare._ Let's in boldly, and use our best arts, who she deigns to favour, we are all content.

_Foun._ Much good may do her with him, no civil wars.

_Bel._ By no means, now do I wonder in what old tod Ivie he lies whistling for means, nor clothes he hath none, nor none will trust him, we have made that side sure, teach him a new wooing.

_Hare._ Say it is his Uncles spite.

_Foun._ It is all one Gentlemen, 'thas rid us of a fair incumbrance, and makes us look about to our own fortunes. Who are these?

_Enter_ Isabel _and_ Luce.

_Isab._ Not see this man yet! well, I shall be wiser: but _Luce_, didst ever know a woman melt so? she is finely hurt to hunt.

_Luce._ Peace, the three Suitors.

_Isab._ I could so titter now and laugh, I was lost _Luce_, and I must love, I know not what; O _Cupid_, what pretty gins thou hast to halter Woodcocks! and we must into the Country in all haste, _Luce_.

_Luce._ For Heaven's sake, Mistris.

_Isab._ Nay, I have done, I must laugh though; but Scholar, I shall teach you.

_Foun._ 'Tis her sister.

_Bel._ Save you Ladies.

_Lab._ Fair met Gentlemen, you are visiting my sister, I assure my self.

_Hare._ We would fain bless our eyes.

_Isab._ Behold and welcom, you would see her?

_Foun._ 'Tis our business.

_Isab._ You shall see her, and you shall talk with her.

_Luce._ She will not see 'em, nor spend a word.

_Isab._ I'le make her fr[e]t a thousand, nay now I have found the s[c]ab, I will so scratch her.

_Luce._ She cannot endure 'em.

_Isab._ She loves 'em but too dearly, come follow me, I'le bring you toth' party Gentlemen, then make your own conditions.

_Luce._ She is sick you know.

_Isab._ I'le make her well, or kill her, and take no idle answer, you are fools then, nor stand off for her state, she'I scorn you all then, but urge her still, and though she fret, still follow her, a widow must be won so.

_Bel._ She speaks bravely.

_Isab._ I would fain have a Brother in law, I love mens company, and if she call for dinner to avoid you, be sure you stay; follow her into her chamber, if she retire to Pray, pray with her, and boldly, like honest lovers.

_Luce._ This will kill her.

_Foun._ You have shewed us one way, do but lead the tother.

_Isab._ I know you stand o'thorns, come I'le dispatch you.

_Luce._ If you live after this.

_Isab._ I have lost my aim.

_Enter_ Valentine, _and_ Francisco.

_Fran._ Did you not see 'em since.

_Val._ No hang 'em, hang 'em.

_Fran._ Nor will you not be seen by 'em?

_Val._ Let 'em alone _Frank_, I'le make 'em their own justice, and a jerker.

_Fran._ Such base discourteous Dog-whelps.

_Val._ I shall dog 'em, and double dog 'em, ere I have done.

_Fran._ Will you go with me, for I would fain find out this piece of bountie, it was the Widows man, that I am certain of.

_Val._ To what end would you go?

_Fran._ To give thanks.

_Val._ Hang giving thanks, hast not thou parts deserve it? it includes a further will to be beholding, beggars can do no more at door, if you will go, there lies your way.

_Fran._ I hope you will go.

_Val._ No not in ceremony, and to a woman, with mine own Father, were he living _Frank_; I would toth' Court with Bears first, if it be that wench, I think it is, for t'other's wiser, I would not be so lookt upon, and laught at, so made a ladder for her wit, to climb upon, for 'tis the tartest tit in Christendom, I know her well _Frank_, and have buckled with her, so lickt, and stroaked, flear'd upon, and flouted, and shown to Chambermaids, like a strange beast, she had purchased with her penny.

_Fran._ You are a strange man, but do you think it was a woman?

_Val._ There's no doubt on't, who can be there to do it else? besides the manner of the circumstances.

_Fran._ Then such courtesies, who ever does 'em sir, saving your own wisdom, must be more lookt into, and better answered, than with deserving slights, or what we ought to have conferred upon us, men may starve else, means are not gotten now with crying out I am a gallant fellow, a good Souldier, a man of learning, or fit to be employed, immediate blessings cease like miracles, and we must grow by second means, I pray go with me, even as you love me Sir.

_Val._ I will come to thee, but _Frank_, I will not stay to hear your fopperies, dispatch those e're I come.

_Fran._ You will not fail me.

_Val._ Some two hours hence expect me.

_Fran._ I thank you, and will look for you. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Widow, Shorthose, _and_ Roger.

_Wid._ Who let in these puppies? you blind rascals, you drunken Knaves several.

_Short._ Yes forsooth, I'le let 'em in presently,--Gentlemen.

_Wid._ Sprecious, you blown Pudding, bawling Rogue.

_Short._ I bawl as loud as I can, would you have me fetch 'em upon my back.

_Wid._ Get 'em out rascal, out with 'em, out, I sweat to have 'em near me.

_Short._ I should sweat more to carry 'em out.

_Roger._ They are Gentlemen Madam.

_Short._ Shall we get 'em into th' butterie, and make'em drunk?

_Wid._ Do any thing, so I be eased.

_Enter_ Isabel, Fount, Bella, Hare.

_Isab._ Now to her Sir, fear nothing.

_Rog._ Slip aside boy, I know she loves 'em, howsoever she carries it, and has invited 'em, my young Mistress told me so.

_Short._ Away to tables then. [_Exeunt._

_Isab._ I shall burst with the sport on't.

_Fount._ You are too curious Madam, too full of preparation, we expect it not.

_Bella._ Me thinks the house is handsom, every place decent, what need you be vext?

_Hare._ We are no strangers.

_Fount._ What though we come e're you expected us, do not we know your entertainments Madam are free, and full at all times?

_Wid._ You are merry, Gentlemen.

_Bel._ We come to be merry Madam, and very merry, men love to laugh heartily, and now and then Lady a little of our old plea.

_Wid._ I am busie, and very busie too, will none deliver me.

_Hare._ There is a time for all, you may be busie, but when your friends come, you have as much power Madam.

_Wid._ This is a tedious torment.

_Foun._ How hansomly this little piece of anger shews upon her! well Madam well, you know not how to grace your self.

_Bel._ Nay every thing she does breeds a new sweetness.

_Wid._ I must go up, I must go up, I have a business waits upon me, some wine for the Gentlemen.

_Hare._ Nay, we'l go with you, we never saw your chambers yet.

_Isab._ Hold there boyes.

_Wid._ Say I go to my prayers?

_Foun._ We'l pray with you, and help your meditations.

_Wid._ This is boysterous, or say I go to sleep, will you go to sleep with me?

_Bel._ So suddenly before meat will be dangerous, we know your dinner's ready Lady, you will not sleep.

_Wid._ Give me my Coach, I will take the air.

_Hare._ We'l wait on you, and then your meat after a quickned stomach.

_Wid._ Let it alone, and call my Steward to me, and bid him bring his reckonings into the Orchard, these unmannerly rude puppies-- [_Exit Widow._

_Foun._ We'l walk after you and view the pleasure of the place.

_Isab._ Let her not rest, for if you give her breath, she'l scorn and flout you, seem how she will, this is the way to win her, be bold and prosper.

_Bel._ Nay if we do not tire her.--
[_Exeunt._

_Isab._ I'le teach you to worm me, good Lady sister, and peep into my privacies to suspect me, I'le torture you, with that you hate, most daintily, and when I have done that, laugh at that you love most.

_Enter_ Luce.

_Luce._ What have you done, she chafes and fumes outragiously, and still they persecute her.

_Isab._ Long may they do so, I'le teach her to declaim against my pities, why is she not gone out o'th' town, but gives occasion for men to run mad after her?

_Luc._ I shall be hanged.

_Isab._ This in me had been high treason, three at a time, and private in her Orchard! I hope she'l cast her reckonings right now.

_Enter_ Widow.

_Wid._ Well, I shall find who brought 'em.

_Isab._ Ha, ha, ha.

_Wid._ Why do you laugh sister? I fear me 'tis your trick, 'twas neatly done of you, and well becomes your pleasure.

_Isab._ What have you done with 'em?

_Wid._ Lockt 'em i'th' Orchard, there I'le make 'em dance and caper too, before they get their liberty, unmannerly rude puppies.

_Isab._ They are somewhat saucy, but yet I'le let 'em out, and once more sound 'em, why were they not beaten out?

_Wid._ I was about it, but because they came as suiters.

_Isab._ Why did you not answer 'em?

_Wid._ They are so impudent they will receive none: More yet! how came these in?

_Enter_ Francisco _and_ Lance.

_Lan._ At the door, Madam.

_Isab._ It is that face.

_Luce._ This is the Gentleman.

_Wid._ She sent the money to?

_Luce._ The same.

_Isab._ Fie leave you, they have some business.

_Wid._ Nay, you shall stay, Sister, they are strangers both to me; how her face alters!

_Isab._ I am sorry he comes now.

_Wid._ I am glad he is here now though. Who would you speak with, Gentlemen?

_Lan._ You Lady, or your fair Sister there, here's a Gentleman that has received a benefit.

_Wid._ From whom, Sir?

_Lan._ From one of you, as he supposes, Madam, your man delivered it.

_Wid._ I pray go forward.

_Lan._ And of so great a goodness, that he dares not, without the tender of his thanks and service, pass by the house.

_Wid._ Which is the Gentleman?

_Lan._ This, Madam.

_Wid._ What's your name, Sir?

_Fran._ They that know me call me _Francisco_, Lady, one not so proud to scorn so timely a benefit, nor so wretched to hide a gratitude.

_Wid._ It is well bestowed then.

_Fran._ Your fair self, or your Sister as it seems, for what desert I dare not know, unless a handsome subject for your charities, or aptness in your noble will to do it, have showred upon my wants a timely bounty, which makes me rich in thanks, my best inheritance.

_Wid._ I am sorry 'twas not mine, this is the Gentlewoman, fie, do not blush, go roundly to the matter, the man is a pretty man.

_Isab._ You have three fine ones.

_Fran._ Then to you, dear Lady?

_Isab._ I pray no more, Sir, if I may perswade you, your only aptness to do this is recompence, and more than I expected.

_Fran._ But good Lady.

_Isab._ And for me further to be acquainted with it besides the imputation of vain glory, were greedy thankings of my self, I did it not to be more affected to; I did it, and if it happened where I thought it fitted, I have my end; more to enquire is curious in either of us, more than that suspicious.

_Fran._ But gentle Lady, 'twill be necessary.

_Isab._ About the right way nothing, do not fright it, being to pious use and tender sighted, with the blown face of Complements, it blasts it; had you not come at all, but thought thanks, it had been too much, 'twas not to see your person.

_Wid._ A brave dissembling Rogue, and how she carries it!

_Isa._ Though I believe few handsomer; or hear you, though I affect a good tongue well; or try you, though my years desire a friend, that I relieved you.

_Wid._ A plaguie cunning quean.

_Isab._ For so I carried it, my end's too glorious in mine eyes, and bettered the goodness I propounded with opinion.

_Wid._ Fear her not, Sir.

_Isa._ You cannot catch me, Sister.

_Fran._ Will you both teach, and tie my tongue up Lady?

_Isa._ Let it suffice you have it, it was never mine, whilest good men wanted it.

_Lan._ This is a Saint sure.

_Isa._ And if you be not such a one, restore it.

_Fran._ To commend my self, were more officious than you think my thanks are, to doubt I may be worth your gift a treason, both to mine own good and understanding, I know my mind clear, and though modesty tells me, he that intreats intrudes; yet I must think something, and of some season, met with your better taste, this had not been else.

_Wid._ What ward for that, wench?

_Isa._ Alas, it never touched me.

_Fran._ Well, gentle Lady, yours is the first money I ever took upon a forced ill manners.

_Isa._ The last of me, if ever you use other.

_Fran._ How may I do, and your way to be thought a grateful taker?

_Isa._ Spend it, and say nothing, your modesty may deserve more.

_Wid._ O Sister will you bar thankfulness?

_Isa._ Dogs dance for meat, would ye have men do worse? for they can speak, cry out like Wood-mongers, good deeds by the hundreds, I did it that my best friend should not know it, wine and vain glory does as much as I else, if you will force my merit, against my meaning, use it in well bestowing it, in shewing it came to be a benefit, and was so; and not examining a Woman did it, or to what end, in not believing sometimes your self, when drink and stirring conversation may ripen strange perswasions.

_Fran._ Gentle Lady, I were a base receiver of a courtesie, and you a worse disposer, were my nature unfurnished of these fore-sights. Ladies honours were ever in my thoughts, unspotted Crimes, their good deeds holy Temples, where the incense burns not; to common eyes your fears are vertuous, and so I shall preserve 'em.

_Isa._ Keep but this way, and from this place to tell me so, you have paid me; and so I wish you see all fortune. [_Exit._

_Wid._ Fear not, the Woman will be thanked, I do not doubt it. Are you so crafty, carry it so precisely? this is to wake my fears, or to abuse me, I shall look narrowly: despair not Gentlemen, there is an hour to catch a Woman in, if you be wise, so, I must leave you too; Now will I go laugh at my Suitors. [_Exit._

_Lan._ Sir, what courage?

_Fran._ This Woman is a founder, and cites Statutes to all her benefits.

_Lan._ I never knew yet, so few years and so cunning, yet believe me she has an itch, but how to make her confess it, for it is a crafty Tit, and plays about you, will not bite home, she would fain, but she dares not; carry your self but so discreetly, Sir, that want or wantonness seem not to search you, and you shall see her open.

_Fran._ I do love her, and were I rich, would give two thousand pound to wed her wit but one hour, oh 'tis a Dragon, and such a spritely way of pleasure, ha _Lance_.

_Lan._ Your ha _Lance_ broken once, you would cry, ho, ho, _Lance_.

_Fran._ Some leaden landed Rogue will have this wench now, when all's done, some such youth will carry her, and wear her, greasie out like stuff, some Dunce that knows no more but Markets, and admires nothing but a long charge at Sizes: O the fortunes!

_Enter_ Isabel _and_ Luce.

_Lan._ Comfort your self.

_Luce._ They are here yet, and alone too, boldly upon't; nay, Mistress, I still told you, how 'twould find your trust, this 'tis to venture your charity upon a boy.

_Lan._ Now, what's the matter? stand fast, and like your self.

_Isa._ Prethee no more Wench.

_Luce._ What was his want to you?

_Isa._ 'Tis true.

_Luce._ Or misery, or say he had been i'th' Cage, was there no mercy to look abroad but yours?

_Isa._ I am paid for fooling.

_Lu._ Must every slight companion that can purchase a shew of poverty and beggerly planet fall under your compassion?

_Lane._ Here's a new matter.

_Luce._ Nay, you are served but too well, here he staies yet, yet as I live.

_Fran._ How her face alters on me!

_Luce._ Out of a confidence I hope.

_Isab._ I am glad on't.

_Fran._ How do you gentle Lady?

_Isab._ Much ashamed Sir, (but first stand further off me, y'are infectious) to find such vanitie, nay almost impudence, where I believ'd a worth: is this your thanks, the gratitude you were so mad to make me, your trim counsel Gentlemen?

_Lane._ What, Lady?

_Isab._ Take your device again, it will not serve Sir, the woman will not bite, you are finely cozened, drop it no more for shame.

_Luce._ Do you think you are here Sir amongst your wast-coateers, your base wenches that scratch at such occasions? you are deluded: This is a Gentlewoman of a noble house, born to a better fame than you can build her, and eyes above your pitch.

_Fran._ I do acknowledge--

_Isab._ Then I beseech you Sir, what could 'see, (speak boldly, and speak truly, shame the Devil,) in my behaviour of such easiness that you durst venture to do this?

_Fran._ You amaze me, this Ring is none of mine, nor did I drop it.

_Luce._ I saw you drop it, Sir.

_Isab._ I took it up too, still looking when your modesty should miss it, why, what a childish part was this?

_Fran._ I vow.

_Isab._ Vow me no vowes, he that dares do this, has bred himself to boldness, to forswear too; there take your gew-gaw, you are too much pampered, and I repent my part, as you grow older grow wiser if you can, and so farewel Sir.

[_Exeunt_ Isabella, _and_ Luce.

_Lan._ Grow wiser if you can? she has put it to you, 'tis a rich Ring, did you drop it?

_Fran._ Never, ne're saw it afore, _Lance_.

_Lan._ Thereby hangs a tail then: what slight she makes to catch her self! look up Sir, you cannot lose her if you would, how daintily she flies upon the Lure, and cunningly she makes her stops! whistle and she'l come to you.

_Fran._ I would I were so happy.

_Lan._ Maids are Clocks, the greatest Wheel they show, goes slowest to us, and make's hang on tedious hopes; the lesser, which are concealed, being often oyl'd with wishes, flee like desires, and never leave that motion, till the tongue strikes; she is flesh, blood and marrow, young as her purpose, and soft as pity; no Monument to worship, but a mould to make men in, a neat one, and I know how e're she appears now, which is near enough, you are stark blind if you hit not soon at night; she would venture forty pounds more but to feel a Flea in your shape bite her: drop no more Rings forsooth, this was the prettiest thing to know her heart by.

_Fran._ Thou putst me in much comfort.

_Lan._ Put your self in good comfort, if she do not point you out the way, drop no more Rings, she'l drop her self into you.

_Fran._ I wonder my Brother comes not.

_Lan._ Let him alone, and feed your self on your own fortunes; come be frolick, and let's be monstrous wise and full of counsel, drop no more Rings. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Widow, Fountain, Bellamore, Harebrain.

_Wid._ If you will needs be foolish you must be used so: who sent for you? who entertained you Gentlemen? who bid you welcom hither? you came crowding, and impudently bold; press on my patience, as if I kept a house for all Companions, and of all sorts: will 'have your wills, will vex me and force my liking from you I ne're ow'd you?

_Fount._ For all this we will dine with you.

_Bel._ And for all this will have a better answer from you.

_Wid._ You shall never, neither have an answer nor dinner, unless you use me with a more staid respect, and stay your time too.

_Enter_ Isabella, Shorthose, Roger, Humphrey, Ralph, _with dishes of meat_.

_Isab._ Forward with the meat now.

_Rog._ Come Gentlemen, march fairly.

_Short._ _Roger_, you are a weak Serving-man, your white broath runs from you; fie, how I sweat under this Pile of Beef; an Elephant can do more! Oh for such a back now, and in these times, what might a man arrive at! Goose, grase you up, and Woodcock march behinde thee, I am almost foundred.

_Wid._ Who bid you bring the meat yet? away you knaves, I will not dine these two hours: how am I vext and chafed! go carry it back and tell the Cook, he's an arrant Rascal, to send before I called.

_Short._ Face about Gentlemen, beat a mournfull march then, and give some supporters, or else I perish-- [_Exeunt_ Servants.

_Isab._ It does me much good to see her chafe thus.

_Hare._ We can stay Madam, and will stay and dwell here, 'tis good Air.

_Fount._ I know you have beds enough, and meat you never want.

_Wid._ You want a little.

_Bel._ We dare to pretend no. Since you are churlish, we'l give you Physick, you must purge this anger, it burns you and decays you.

_Wid._ If I had you out once, I would be at the charge of a portcullis for you.

_Enter_ Valentine.

_Val._ Good morrow noble Lady.

_Wid._ Good morrow Sir. How sweetly now he looks, and how full manly! what slaves were these to use him so!

_Val._ I come to look a young man I call Brother.

_Wid._ Such a one was here Sir, as I remember your own Brother, but gone almost an hour agoe.

_Val._ Good ee'n then.

_Wid._ You must not so soon Sir, here be some Gentlemen, it may be you are acquainted with 'em.

_Hare._ Will nothing make him miserable?

_Fount._ How glorious!

_Bel._ It is the very he, does it rain fortunes, or has he a familiar?

_Hare._ How doggedly he looks too?

_Fount._ I am beyond my faith, pray let's be going.

_Val._ Where are these Gentlemen?

_Wid._ Here.

_Val._ Yes I know 'em, and will be more familiar.

_Bel._ Morrow Madam.

_Wid._ Nay stay and dine.

_Val._ You shall stay till I talk with you, and not dine neither, but fastingly my fury, you think you have undone me, think so still, and swallow that belief, till you be company for Court-hand Clarks, and starved Atturnies, till you break in at playes like Prentices for three a groat, and crack Nuts with the Scholars in peny Rooms again, and fight for Apples, till you return to what I found you, people betrai'd into the hands of Fencers, Challengers, Tooth-drawers Bills, and tedious Proclamations in Meal-markets, with throngings to see Cutpurses: stir not, but hear, and mark, I'le cut your throats else, till Water works, and rumours of New Rivers rid you again and run you into questions who built Thames, till you run mad for Lotteries, and stand there with your Tables to glean the golden Sentences, and cite 'em secre[t]ly to Servingmen for sound Essayes, till Taverns allow you but a Towel room to Tipple Wine in, that the Bell hath gone for twice, and Glasses that look like broken promises, tied up with wicker protestations, English Tobacco with half Pipes, nor in half a year once burnt, and Bisket that Bawds have rubb'd their gums upon like Corals to bring the mark again, tell these hour Rascals so, this most fatal hour will come again, think I sit down the looser.

_Wid._ Will you stay Gentlemen, a piece of Beef and a cold Capon, that's all, you know you are welcom.

_Hum._ That was cast to abuse us.

_Bel._ Steal off, the Devil is in his anger.

_Wid._ Nay I am sure you will not leave me so discourteously, now I have provided for you.

_Val._ What do you here? why do ye vex a woman of her goodness, her state and worth? can you bring a fair certificate that you deserve to be her footmen? husbands, you puppies? husbands for Whores and Bawds, away you wind suckers; do not look big, nor prate, nor stay, nor grumble and when you are gone, seem to laugh at my fury, and slight this Lady, I shall hear, and know this: and though I am not bound to fight for women, as far they are good I dare preserve 'em: be not too bold, for if you be, I'le swinge you monstrously without all pity, your honours now goe, avoid me mainly. [_Exeunt._

_Wid._ Well Sir, you have delivered me, I thank you, and with your nobleness prevented danger, their tongues might utter, we'll all go and eat Sir.

_Vol._ No, no, I dare not trust my self with women, go to your meat, eat little, take less ease, and tie your body to a daily labour, you may live honestly, and so I thank you. [_Exit._

_Wid._ Well go thy ways, thou art a noble fellow, and some means I must work to have thee know it. [_Exit._

_Actus Quintus. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Uncle, _and_ Merchant.

_Unc._ Most certain 'tis her hands that hold him up, and her sister relieves _Frank_.

_Mer._ I am glad to hear it: but wherefore do they not pursue this fortune to some fair end?

_Unc._ The women are too craftie, _Valentine_ too coy, and _Frank_ too bashfull, had any wise man hold of such a blessing, they would strike it out o'th' flint but they would form it.

_Enter_ Widow, _and_ Shorthose.

_Mer._ The Widow sure, why does she stir so early?

_Wid._ 'Tis strange, I cannot force him to understand me, and make a benefit of what I would bring him: tell my sister I'le use my devotions at home this morning, she may if she please go to Church.

_Short._ Hey ho.

_Wid._ And do you wait upon her with a torch Sir.

_Short._ Hey ho.

_Wid._ You lazie Knave.

_Short._ Here is such a tinkle tanklings that we can ne're lie quiet, and sleep our prayers out. _Ralph_, pray emptie my right shooe that you made your Chamber-pot, and burn a little Rosemarie in't, I must wait upon my Lady. This morning Prayer has brought me into a consumption, I have nothing left but flesh and bones about me.

_Wid._ You drousie slave, nothing but sleep and swilling!

_Short._ Had you been bitten with Bandog fleas, as I have been, and haunted with the night Mare.

_Wid._ With an Ale-pot.

_Short._ You would have little list to morning Prayers, pray take my fellow _Ralph_, he has a Psalm Book, I am an ingrum man.

_Wid._ Get you ready quickly, and when she is ready wait upon her handsomely; no more, be gone.

_Short._ If I do snore my part out-- [_Exit_ Short.

_Unc._ Now to our purposes.

_Mer._ Good morrow, Madam.

_Wid._ Good morrow, Gentlemen.

_Unc._ Good joy and fortune.

_Wid._ These are good things, and worth my thanks, I thank you Sir.

_Mer._ Much joy I hope you'l find, we came to gratulate your new knit marriage-band.

_Wid._ How?

_Unc._ He's a Gentleman, although he be my kinsman, my fair Niece.

_Wid._ Niece, Sir?

_Unc._ Yes Lady, now I may say so, 'tis no shame to you, I say a Gentleman, and winking at some light fancies, which you most happily may affect him for, as bravely carried, as nobly bred and managed.

_Wid._ What's all this? I understand you not, what Niece, what marriage-knot?

_Unc._ I'le tell plainly, you are my Niece, and _Valentine_ the Gentleman has made you so by marriage.

_Wid._ Marriage?

_Unc._ Yes Lady, and 'twas a noble and vertuous part, to take a falling man to your protection, and buoy him up again to all his glories.

_Wid._ The men are mad.

_Mer._ What though he wanted these outward things, that flie away like shadows, was not his mind a full one, and a brave one? You have wealth enough to give him gloss and outside, and he wit enough to give way to love a Lady.

_Unc._ I ever thought he would do well.

_Mer._ Nay, I knew how ever he wheel'd about like a loose Cabine, he would charge home at length, like a brave Gentleman; Heavens blessing o' your heart Lady, we are so bound to honour you, in all your service so devoted to you.

_Unc._ Do not look so strange Widow, it must be known, better a general joy; no stirring here yet, come, come, you cannot hide 'em.

_Wid._ Pray be not impudent, these are the finest toyes, belike I am married then?

_Mer._ You are in a miserable estate in the worlds account else, I would not for your wealth it come to doubting.

_Wid._ And I am great with child?

_Unc._ No, great they say not, but 'tis a full opinion you are with child, and great joy among the Gentlemen, your husband hath bestirred himself fairly.

_Mer._ Alas, we know his private hours of entrance, how long, and when he stayed, could name the bed too, where he paid down his first-fruits.

_Wid._ I shall believe anon.

_Unc._ And we consider for some private reasons, you would have it private, yet take your own pleasure; and so good morrow, my best Niece, my sweetest.

_Wid._ No, no, pray stay.

_Unc._ I know you would be with him, love him, and love him well.

_Mer._ You'l find him noble, this may beget--

_Unc._ It must needs work upon her.

[_Exit_ Uncle, _and_ Mer.

_Wid._ These are fine bobs i'faith, married, and with child too! how long has this been, I trow? they seem grave fellows, they should not come to flout; married, and bedded, the world takes notice too! where lies this May-game? I could be vext extreamly now, and rail too, but 'tis to no end, though I itch a little, must I be scratcht I know not how, who waits there?

_Enter_ Humphrey, _a_ Servant.

_Hum._ Madam.

_Wid._ Make ready my Coach quickly, and wait you only, and hark you Sir, be secret and speedy, inquire out where he lies.

_Hum._ I shall do it, Madam.

_Wid._ Married, and got with child in a dream! 'tis fine i'faith, sure he that did this, would do better waking. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Valentine, Fran. Lance, _and a Boy with a Torch_.

_Val._ Hold thy Torch handsomely: how dost thou _Frank_? _Peter Bassel_, bear up.

_Fran._ You have fried me soundly, Sack do you call this drink?

_Val._ A shrewd dog, _Frank_, will bite abundantly.

_Lan._ Now could I fight, and fight with thee.

_Val._ With me, thou man of _Memphis_?

_Lan._ But that thou art mine own natural master, yet my sack says thou art no man, thou art a Pagan, and pawnest thy land, which a noble cause.

_Val._ No arms, nor arms, good _Lancelot_, dear _Lance_, no fighting here, we will have Lands boy, Livings, and Titles, thou shalt be a Vice-Roy, hang fighting, hang't 'tis out of fashion.

_Lan._ I would fain labour you into your lands again, go to, it is behoveful.

_Fran._ Fie _Lance_, fie.

_Lan._ I must beat some body, and why not my Master, before a stranger? charity and beating begins at home.

_Val._ Come, thou shalt beat me.

_Lan._ I will not be compel'd, and you were two Masters, I scorn the motion.

_Val._ Wilt thou sleep?

_Lan._ I scorn sleep.

_Val._ Wilt thou go eat?