ACT III., SCENE I.
Enter Alderman Brewen, Sir Godfrey Speedwell, Innocent Lambskin, and Mistress Jane.
Brew. Gentlemen, you're welcome; that once well-pronounced has a thousand echoes. Let it suffice, I have spoke it to the full. Here's your affairs, here's your merchandise—this is your prize. [Pointing to Jane.
If you can mix your names and gentle bloods
With the poor daughter of a citizen,
I make the passage free, to greet and court,
Traffic the mart of love, clap hands, and strike
The bargain through; she pleas'd, and I shall like.
Speed. 'Tis good ware, believe me, sir: I know that by mine own experience, for I have handled the like many times in my first wife's days. Ay, by knighthood! sometimes before I was married, too; therefore I know't by mine own experience.
Lamb. Well, sir, I know by observation as much as you do by experience; for I have known many gentlemen have taken up such ware as this is, but it has lain on their hands as long as they lived. This I have seen by observation.
Jane. [Aside.] I am like to have a couple of fair chapmen. If they were at my own dispose, I would willingly raffle them both at twelvepence a share. They would be good food for a new plantation. The one might mend his experience, and the other his observation very much.[77]
Speed. Sir, let me advise you; I see you want experience. Meddle no further in this case; 'twill be the more credit for your observation, for I find by my experience you are but shallow.
Lamb. But shallow, sir? Your experience is a little wide; you shall find I will be as deep in this case as yourself. My observation has been where your experience must wait at door; yet I will give you the fore-horse place, and I will be in the thills[78], because you are the elder tree, and I the young plant. Put on your experience, and I will observe.
Speed. Sweet virgin, to be prolix and tedious fits not experience. Short words and large deeds are best pleasing to women.
Jane. So, sir.
Speed. My name is Speedwell by my father's copy.
Jane. Then you never served for't, it seems[79].
Speed. Yes, sweet feminine! I have served for it too; for I found my nativity suited to my name. As my name is Speedwell, so have I sped well in divers actions.
Jane. It must needs be a fair and comely suit, then.
Lamb. You observe very well, sweet virgin; for his nativity is his doublet, which is the upper part of his suit; and his name is in's breeches, for that part, which is his name, he defiles many times.
Speed. Your observation is corrupt, sir. Let me show mine own tale. I say, sweet beauty, my name is Speedwell. My godfather, by his bounty (being an old soldier, and having served in the wars as far as Boulogne) therefore called my name Godfrey, a title of large renown.[80] My wealth and wit has added to those the paraphrase of knighthood, so that my name in the full longitude is called Sir Godfrey Speedwell, a name of good experience.
Jane. If every quality you have be as large in relation as your name, sir, I should imagine the best of them, rather than hear them reported.
Speed. You say well, sweet modesty; a good imagination is good, and shows your good experience.
Lamb. Nay, if names can do any good, I beseech you observe mine. My name is Lambskin, a thing both hot and harmless.
Jane. On, sir; I would not interrupt you, because you should be brief.
Lamb. My godfather, seeing in my face some notes of disposition, in my cradle did give me the title of Innocent,[81] which I have practised all my lifetime; and since my father's decease, my wealth has purchased me in the vanguard of my name the paraphrase of gentility, so that I am called Master Innocent Lambskin.
Jane. In good time: and what trade was your father, sir?
Lamb. My father was of an occupation before he was a tradesman; for, as I have observed in my father's and mother's report, they set up together in their youth. My father was a starch-maker, and my mother a laundress; so, being partners, they did occupy[82] long together before they were married; then was I born.
Jane. What, before your father was married?
Lamb. Truly a little after. I was the first-fruits, as they say. Then did my father change his copy, and set up a brewhouse.
Jane. Ay, then came your wealth in, sir.
Lamb. Your observation's good. I have carried the tallies[83] at my girdle seven year together with much delight and observation, for I did ever love to deal honestly in the nick.
Jane. A very innocent resolution.
Speed. Your experience may see his coarse education; but to the purpose, sweet female. I do love that face of yours.
Jane. Sir, if you love nothing but my face, I cannot sell it from the rest.
Lamb. You may see his slender observation. Sweet virgin, I do love your lower parts better than your face.
Speed. Sir, you do interrupt and thwart my love.
Lamb. Ay, sir, I am your rival, and I will thwart your love; for your love licks at the face, and my love shall be arsy-versy to yours.
Jane. I would desire no better wooing of so bad suitors.
Steph. Mistake me not, kind-heart.
Lamb. He calls you tooth-drawer by way of experience.[84]
Speed. In loving your face, I love all the rest of your body, as you shall find by experience.
Jane. Well, sir, you love me, then?
Speed. Let your experience make a trial.
Jane. No, sir, I'll believe you rather, and I thank you for't.
Lamb. I love you too, fair maid, double and treble, if it please you.
Jane. I thank you too, sir; I am so much beholding to you both, I am afraid I shall never requite it.
Speed. Requite one, sweet chastity, and let it be Sir Godfrey, with the correspondency of your love to him. I will maintain you like a lady; and it is brave, as I know by experience.
Lamb. I will maintain you like a gentlewoman: and that may be better maintenance than a lady's, as I have found by observation.
Speed. How dare you maintain that, sir?
Lamb. I dare maintain it with my purse, sir.
Speed. I dare cross it with my sword, sir.
[Lays his hand on his sword.
Lamb. If you dare cross my purse with your sword, sir, I'll lay an action of suspicion of felony to you; that's flat, sir.
Jane. Nay, pray you, gentlemen, do not quarrel till you know for what.
Brew. O, no quarrelling, I beseech you, gentlemen! the reputation of my house is soiled if any uncivil noise arise in't.
Lamb. Let him but shake his blade at me, and I'll throw down my purse and cry a rape; I scorn to kill him, but I'll hang his knighthood, I warrant him, if he offer assault and battery on my purse.
Brew. Nay, good sir, put up your sword.
Speed. You have confined him prisoner for ever: I hope your experience sees he's a harmless thing.
Enter George.
George. Sir, here's young Master Foster requests to speak with you.
Brew. Does he? Prythee, request him [in]. Gentlemen, please you taste the sweetness of my garden awhile, and let my daughter bear you company.
Speed. Where she is leader, there will be followers.
Jane. [Aside to her father.] You send me to the galleys, sir; pray you, redeem me as soon as you can: these are pretty things for mirth, but not for serious uses.
Brew. Prythee, be merry with them then awhile, if but for courtesy; thou hast wit enough: but take heed they quarrel not.
Jane. Nay, I dare take in hand to part 'em without any danger; but I beseech you, let me not be too long a prisoner. Will you walk, gentlemen.
Lamb. If it please you to place one of us for your conduct, otherwise this old coxcomb and I shall quarrel.
Jane. Sir Godfrey, you are the eldest; pray, lead the way.
Speed. With all my heart, sweet virgin. [Aside.] Ah! ah! this place promises well in the eyes of experience. Master Innocent, come you behind.
Lamb. Right, sir; but I put the gentlewoman before, and that is the thing I desire; and there your experience halts a little.
Speed. When I look back, sir, I see your nose behind.
Lamb. Then when I look back your nose stands here.
Speed. Sweet lady, follow experience.
Lamb. And let observation follow you. [Exeunt.
Brew. So: now request you Master Foster in, George; but hark! does that news hold his own still, that our ships are so near return, as laden on the Downs with such a wealthy fraughtage?
George. Yes, sir, and the next tide [do] purpose to
Put into the river. Master Foster, your partner,
Hath now receiv'd more such intelligence, with
Most o' the particulars of your merchandise;
Your venture is return'd with treble blessings.
Brew. Let him be ever blessed that sent [it]!
George, now call in the young man; and hark ye,
George, from him run to my partner, and request
him to me. This news, I'm sure, makes him a
joyful merchant; for my own part, I'll not forget
my vow. [Exit George.
This free addition heaven hath lent my state,
As freely back to heaven I'll dedicate.
Enter Robert Foster.
Ay, marry, sir, would this were a third suitor to
My daughter Jane! I should better like him than
All that's come yet. Now, Master Foster, are
Your father and yourself yet reconcil'd?
Rob. Sir, 'twas my business in your courteous tongue
To put the arbitration. I have again
(Discover'd by my mother) reliev'd my poor uncle;
Whose anger now so great is multiplied,
I dare not venture in the eye of either,
Till your persuasions [shall] with fair excuse
Have made my satisfaction.
Brew. Mother-o'-pearl! sir, 'tis a shrewd task;
Yet I'll do my best: your father hath so good news,
That I hope 'twill be a fair motive to't;
But women's tongues are dangerous stumbling-blocks
To lie in the way of peace.
Enter George.
Now, George?
George. Master Foster's coming, sir.
Rob. I beseech you, sir, let not me see him
Till you have conferr'd with him.
Brew. Well, well! [To George.] Ere your return to Master Foster, call my daughter forth of the garden. [Exit George.
And how does your uncle, Master Foster?
Rob. Sir, so well,
I'd be loth to anticipate the fame
That shortly will o'erspread the city
Of his good fortunes.
Brew. Why, I commend thee still;
He wants no good from thee—no, not in report:
'Tis well done, sir, and you show duty in't.
Enter Jane.
Now, daughter, where are your lusty suitors?
Jane. I was glad of my release, sir. Suitors call you 'em? I'd keep dish-water continually boiling, but I'd seethe such suitors: I have had much ado to keep 'em from bloodshed. I have seen for all the world a couple of cowardly curs quarrel in that fashion; as the one turns his head, the other snaps behind; and as he turns, his mouth recoils again: but I thank my pains for't, I have leagued with 'em for a week without any further intercourse.
Brew. Well, daughter, well; say a third trouble come; say in the person of young Master Foster here came a third suitor: how then?
Jane. Three's the woman's total arithmetic: indeed I would learn to number no farther, if there was a good account made of that.
Rob. I can instruct you so far, sweet beauty.
Jane. Take heed, sir; I have had ill-handsel to-day; perhaps 'tis not the fortunate season; you were best adjourn your journey to some happier time.
Rob. There shall no augurism fright my plain dealing: sweet, I fear no hours.
Jane. You'll not betray me with love-powder?
Rob. Nor with gunpowder neither, i' faith; yet I'll make you yield, if I can.
Brew. Go, get you together; your father will be coming; leave me with your suit to him, ply this yourself: and, Jane, use him kindly; he shall be his father's heir, I can tell you.
Jane. Never the more for that, father; if I use him kindly, it shall be for something I like in himself, and not for any good he borrows of his father. But come, sir, will you walk into the garden? for that's the field I have best fortune to overcome my suitors in.
Rob. I fear not that fate neither; but if I walk into your garden, I shall be tasting your sweets.
Jane. Taste sweetly, and welcome, sir; for there grows honesty, I can tell you.
Rob. I shall be plucking at your honesty.
Jane. By my honesty, but you shall not, sir: I'll hold you a handful of pennyroyal of that; i' faith, if you touch my honesty there, I'll make you eat sorrel to your supper, though I eat sullenwood[85] myself: no, sir, gather first time and sage, and such wholesome herbs, and honesty and heart's-ease will ripen the whilst.
Rob. You have fair roses, have you not.
Jane. Yes, sir, roses; but no gilliflowers.[86]
Brew. Go, go, and rest on Venus' violets:
Show her a dozen of bachelor's buttons, boy. [Exit Robert and Jane.
Here comes his father.
Enter Old Master Foster and his Wife.
Now, my kind partner, have we good news?
O. Fos. Sir, in a word take it: your full lading
And venture is return'd at sixtyfold increase.
Brew. Heaven take the glory! a wondrous blessing;
O, keep us strong against these flowing tides!
Man is too weak to bound himself below,
When such high waves do mount him.
O. Fos. O, sir, care and ambition seldom meet;
Let us be thrifty; titles will faster come,
Than we shall wish to have them.
Brew. Faith, I desire none.
O. Fos. Why, sir, if so you please, I'll ease your cares;
Shall I, like a full adventurer, now bid you
A certain ready sum for your half traffic.
Brew. Ay, and I'd make you gainer by it, too;
For then would I lay by my trouble, and begin
A work which I have promis'd unto heaven;
A house, a Domus Dei shall be rais'd,
Which shall to doomsday be established
For succour to the poor; for in all ages
There must be such.
O. Fos. Shall I bid your venture at a venture?
Brew. Pray you, do, sir.
O. Fos. Twenty thousand pounds?
Brew. Nay, then you underrate your own value much: will you make it thirty?
O. Fos. Shall I meet you half-way?
Brew. I meet you there, sir: for five-and-twenty thousand pounds the full venture's yours.
O. Fos. If you like my payment, 'tis the one-half in ready cash, the other seal'd for six months.
Brew. 'Tis merchant-like and fair. George, you observe this? Let the contents be drawn.
George. They shall, sir.
O. Fos. Your hazard is now all pass'd, sir.
Brew. I rejoice at it, sir, and shall not grudge your gains,
Though multiplied to thousands.
O. Fos. Believe me, sir, I account myself a large gainer by you.
Brew. Much good may it be to you, sir: but one thing
At this advantage of my love to you
Let me entreat.
O. Fos. What is it, sir?
Brew. Faith, my old suit—to reconcile those breaches
'Twixt your kind son and you: let not the love
He shows unto his uncle be any more a bar
To sunder your blessings and his duty.
O. Fos. I would you had enjoin'd me some great labour
For your own love's sake: but to that my vow
Stands fix'd against; I'm deaf, obdurate
To either of them.
Mrs Fos. Nay, sir, if you knew all,
You would not waste your words in so vain expense:
Since his last reformation, he has flown
Out again, and in my sight relieved
His uncle in the dicing-house; for which
Either he shall be no father to him,
Or no husband to me.
Brew. Well, sir, go call my daughter forth of the garden, and bid her bring her friend along with her: troth, sir, I must not leave you thus; I must needs make him your son again.
O. Fos. Sir, I have no such thing akin to me.
Enter Robert; Robert kneels to his father.
Brew. Look you, sir, know you this duty?
O. Fos. Not I, sir; he's a stranger to me.
Save your knee; I have no blessing for you.
Mrs Fos. Go, go to your uncle, sir; you know where to find him; he's at his old haunt; he wants more money by this time; but I think the conduit-pipe is stopped from whence it ran.
O. Fos. Did he not say he'd beg for you? you'd best make use of's bounty.
Brew. Nay, good sir.
O. Fos. Sir, if your daughter cast any eye of favour upon this unthrift, restrain't, he's a beggar. Mistress Jane, take heed what you do.
Mrs Fos. Ay, ay, be wise, Mistress Jane; do not you trust to spleen in time worn to pity,[87] you'll not find it so; therefore, good gentlewoman, take heed.
Brew. Nay, then, you are too impenetrable.
O. Fos. Sir, your money shall be ready, and your bills; other business I have none.
[To Rob.] For thee, beg, hang, die like a slave;
Such blessings ever thou from me shalt have.
[Exit Foster and his Wife.
Brew. Well, sir, I'll follow you. [To Robert.
And, sir, be comforted,
I will not leave, till I find some remorse;
Meantime let not want trouble you;
You shall not know it.
Rob. Sir, 'tis not want I fear, but want of blessing
My knee was bent for; for mine uncle's state,
Which now (I daresay) outweighs my father's far,
Confirms my hopes as rich as with my father's,
His love excepted only.
Brew. Thy uncle's state! how, for heaven's love?
Rob. By his late marriage to the wealthiest widow
That London had; who has not only made him
Lord of herself, but of her whole estate.
Brew. Mother-o'-pearl! I rejoice in't: this news
Is yet but young.
Rob. Fame will soon speak it loud, sir.
Brew. This may help happily to make all peace:
But how, have you parley'd with my daughter, sir?
Enter Jane.
Jane. Very well, father; we spake something, but did nothing at all: I requested him to pull me a Catherine pear, and had I not looked to him, he would have mistook and given me a poperin: and to requite his kindness I plucked him a rose, and had almost pricked my finger for my pains.
Brew. Well-said, wag; are there sparks kindled?
Quench 'em not for me: 'tis not a father's roughness,
Nor doubtful hazard of an uncle's kindness
Can me deter. I must to your father;
Where (as a chief affair) I'll once more move,
And (if I can) return him back to love. [Exeunt.
Enter Doctor and Stephen's Wife.
Wife. Sir, you see I have made a speedy choice
And as swift a marriage: be it as it will,
I like the man: if his qualities afflict me,
I shall be happy in't.
Doc. I must not distaste what I have help'd to make;
'Tis I that join'd you.
Wife. A good bargain, I hope.
Enter Clown.
Roger, where's your master?
Clown. The good man of the house is within, forsooth.
Wife. Not your master, sir?
Clown. 'Tis hard of digestion. Yes, my master is within. He masters you; therefore I must be content. You have longed for crosses a good while, and now you are like to be farther off them than e'er you were; for I'm afraid your good husband will leave you ne'er a cross i' th' house to bless you with.
Wife. Well, sir, I shall be bless'd in't. But where is he?
Clown. Where he has mistaken the place a little, being his wedding-day; he is in nomine, when he should be in re.
Wife. And where's that?
Clown. In your counting-house: if he were a kind husband, he would have been in another counting-house by this time: he's tumbling over all his money-bags yonder; you shall hear of him in the bowling-alley again.
Wife. Why, sir, all is his, and at his dispose; Who shall dare to thwart him?
Enter Stephen with bills and bonds.
Clown. Look where he comes.
Wife. How now, sweetheart? what hast thou there?
Steph. I find much debts belonging to you, sweet;
And my care must be now to fetch them in.
Wife. Ha, ha! prythee, do not mistake thyself,
Nor my true purpose; I did not wed to thrall,
Or bind thy large expense, but rather to add
A plenty to that liberty. I thought by this,
Thou wouldst have stuff'd thy pockets full of gold,
And thrown it at a hazard; made ducks and drakes,
And baited fishes with thy silver flies;
Lost, and fetch'd more: why, this had been my joy!
Perhaps at length thou wouldst have wasted my store:
Why, this had been a blessing too good for me.
Steph. Content thee, sweet, those days are gone—
Ay, even from my memory;
I have forgot that e'er I had such follies,
And I'll not call 'em back: my cares[88] are bent
To keep your state, and give you all content.
Roger, go, call your fellow-servants up to me,
And to my chamber bring all books of debt;
I will o'erlook and cast up all accounts,
That I may know the weight of all my cares,
And once a year give up my stewardship.
Clown. [Aside to the Wife.] Now you may see what hasty matching is. You had thought to have been vexed, and now you cannot; you have married a husband, that (sir reverence of the title) now being my master-in-law, I do think he'll prove the miserablest covetous rascal that ever beat beggar from his gate. But 'tis no matter. Time was when you were fairly offered, if you would have took it. You might have had other matches, i' faith, if it had pleased you; and those that would have crossed you. I would have sold away all that ever you had had; have kept two or three whores at livery under your nose; have turned you out in your smock, and have used you like a woman: whereas now, if you'd hang yourself, you can have none of these blessings. But 'tis well enough—now you must take what follows.
Wife. I'm to new[89] seek for crosses: the hopes I meant
Turn to despair, and smother in content.
Enter Robert.
Steph. O nephew, are you come! the welcom'st wish
That my heart has; this is my kinsman, sweet.
Wife. Let him be largely texted in your love,
That all the city may read it fairly;
You cannot remember me, and him forget:
We were alike to you in poverty.
Steph. I should have begg'd that bounty of your love,
Though you had scanted me to have given't him;
For we are one: I an uncle-nephew,
He a nephew-uncle. But, my sweet self,
My slow request you have anticipated
With proffer'd kindness; and I thank you for it.
But how, kind cousin, does your father use you?
Is your name found again within his books?
Can he read son there?
Rob. 'Tis now blotted quite:
For by the violent instigation
Of my cruel stepmother, his vows and oaths
Are stamp'd against me, ne'er to acknowledge me,
Never to call or bless me as a child;
But in his brow, his bounty and behaviour
I read it all most plainly.
Steph. Cousin, grieve
Not at it; that father, lost at home, you shall
Find here; and with the loss of his inheritance,
You meet another amply proffer'd you;
Be my adopted son, no more my kinsman:
[To his Wife.] So that this borrowed bounty do not stray
From your consent.
Wife. Call it not borrow'd, sir; 'tis all your own;
Here 'fore this reverend man I make it known,
Thou art our child as free by adoption,
As deriv'd from us by conception,
Birth, and propinquity; inheritor
To our full substance.
Rob. You were born
To bless us both; my knee shall practise
A son's duty even beneath [a] son's;
Giving you all the comely dues of parents; yet
Not forgetting my duty to my father:
Where'er I meet him, he shall have my knee,
Although his blessing ne'er return to me.
Steph. Come then, my dearest son, I'll now give thee
A taste of my love to thee: be thou my deputy,
The factor and disposer of my business;
Keep my accounts, and order my affairs;
They must be all your own: for you, dear sweet,
Be merry, take your pleasure at home—abroad;
Visit your neighbours—aught that may seem good
To your own will; down to the country ride;
For cares and troubles, lay them all aside,
And I will take them up: it's fit that weight
Should now lie all on me: take thou the height
Of quiet and content: let nothing grieve thee.
I brought thee nothing else, and that I'll give thee.
[Exit Stephen and Robert.
Wife. Will the tide never turn? Was ever woman
Thus burden'd with unhappy happiness?
Did I from riot take him to waste my goods,
And he strives to augment it? I did mistake him.
Doc. Spoil not a good text with a false comment;
All these are blessings, and from heaven sent;
It is your husband's good; he's now transform'd
To a better shade; the prodigal's return'd.
Come, come, know joy, make not abundance scant;
You 'plain of that which thousand women want. [Exeunt.
Enter Brewen and Old Foster; George and Richard follow them, carrying several bags of money across the stage.
Brew. So, so,
Haste home, good lads, and return for the rest.
Would they were cover'd, George; 'tis too public
Blazon of my estate; but 'tis no matter now;
I'll bring it abroad again, ere it be long.
Sir, I acknowledge receipt of my full half debt,
Twelve thousand five hundred pounds; it now remains
You seal those writings as assurance for the rest,
And I am satisfied for this time.
O. Fos. Pray stay, sir, I have bethought me: let me once
Throw dice at all, and either be a complete
Merchant, or wrack my estate for ever:
Hear me, sir; I have of wares, that are now vendible,
So much as will defray your utmost penny;
Will you accept of them, and save this charge
Of wax and parchment?
Brew. Be they vendible, sir, I am your chapman:
What are they, Master Foster?
O. Fos. Broadcloths, kerseys, cochineal, such as will not stay two days upon your hands.
Brew. I find your purpose; you'd have your warehouses empty for the receipt of your full fraught: I'll be your furtherer; make so your rates that I may be no loser.
Enter George and Richard.
O. Fos. I have no other end, sir; let our factors peruse and deal for both.
Brew. Mine is returned. George, here's a new business; you and Richard must deal for some commodities betwixt us; if you find 'em even gain or but little loss, take carriage presently, and carry 'em home.
George. I shall.
O. Fos. Richard, have you any further news yet from our shipping?
Rich Not yet, sir; but by account from the last, when they put from Dover, this tide should bring them into Saint Catherine's pool; the wind has been friendly.
O. Fos. Listen their arrival, and bid the gunner speak it
In his loud thunder all the city over;
Tingle the merchants' ears at the report
Of my abundant wealth. Now go with George.
Rich I shall do both, sir. [Exeunt Factors.
O. Fos. I must plainly now confess, master alderman,
I shall gain much by you. The half of your ship
Defrays my full cost.
Brew. Beshrew me, if I grudge it, being myself
A sufficient gainer by my venture, sir.
Enter Mistress Foster.
Mrs Fos. Still flows the tide of my unhappiness;
The stars shoot mischief, and every hour
Is critical to me.
O. Fos. How now, woman?
Wrecked in the haven of felicity? What ail'st thou?
Mrs Fos. I think the devil's mine enemy.
O. Fos. I hope so too; his hate is better than his friendship.
Mrs Fos. Your brother—your good brother, sir——
O. Fos. What of him? he's in Ludgate again.
Mrs Fos. No, he's in Highgate; he struts it bravely—
An alderman's pace at least.
O. Fos. Why, these
Are oracles, doubtful enigmas!
Mrs Fos. Why,
I'm sure you have heard the news; he's married, forsooth.
O. Fos. How, married?
No woman of repute would choose so slightly.
Mrs Fos. A woman, in whose breast I'd thought had liv'd
The very quintessence of discretion:
And who is't, think you? nay, you cannot guess,
Though I should give you a day to [un]riddle it:
It is my gossip, man, the rich
Widow of Cornhill.
O. Fos. Fie, fie! 'tis fabulous.
Mrs Fos. Are you my husband? then is she his wife.
How will this upstart beggar shoulder up,
And take the wall of you! his new-found pride
Will know no eldership.
O. Fos. But, wife, my wealth will five times double his
Ere this tide ebb again: I wonder I hear not
The brazen cannon proclaim the arrival
Of my infinite substance.
Mrs Fos. But beggars
Will be proud of little, and shoulder at the best.
O. Fos. Let him first pay his old score, and then reckon:
But that she——
Mrs Fos. Ay, that's it mads me too.
Would any woman, 'less to spite herself,
So much profane the sacred name of wedlock:
A dove to couple with a stork, or a lamb a viper?
O. Fos. Content thee; forgive her; she'll do so no more.
She was a rich widow: a wife he'll make her poor.
Brew. So, sir, you have clos'd it well; if so ill it prove,
Leave it to proof, and wish not misery
Enter Stephen and Robert.
Unto your enemy. Look, here he comes.
O. Fos. You say true; 'tis my enemy indeed.
Steph. Save you, master alderman, I have some business with you.
Brew. With me, sir? and most welcome; I rejoice to see you.
Mrs Fos. Do you observe, sir, he will not know you now?
Jockey's a gentleman now.[90]
O. Fos. Well fare rich widows, when such beggars flourish;
But ill shall they fare that flourish o'er such beggars.
Mrs Fos. He laughs at you.
O. Fos. No wonder, woman, he would do that in Ludgate;
But 'twas when his kind nephew did relieve him:
I shall hear him cry there again shortly.
Steph. Oysters, new Walfleet oysters!
O. Fos. The gentleman is merry.
Mrs Fos. No, no, no; he does this to spite me; as who should say,
I had been a fishwife in my younger days.
Brew. Fie, fie, gentlemen! this is not well;
My ears are guilty to hear such discords.
[Robert kneels to his father.
Look, Master Foster; turn your eye that way;
There's duty unregarded, while envy struts
In too much state: believe me, gentlemen,
I know not which to chide first.
O. Fos. What idol kneels that heretic to?
Steph. Rise, boy, thou art now my son, and owest no knee
To that unnatural: I charge you, rise.
O. Fos. Do, sir, or turn your adoration that way;
You were kind to him in his tatter'd state;
Let him requite it now.
Mrs Fos. Do, do, we have paid for't aforehand.
Rob. I would I were divided in two halves,
So that might reconcile your harsh division.
Steph. Proud sir, this son, which you have alienated
For my love's sake, shall by my love's bounty
Ride side by side in the best equipage
Your scorns dare pattern him.
O. Fos. Ay, ay, a beggar's gallop up and down.
Mrs Fos. Ay, 'tis up now, the next step down.
Steph. Ha, ha! I laugh at your envy, sir. My business
Is to you.
Brew. Good sir, speak of anything but this.
Steph. Sir, I am furnishing some shipping forth,
And want some English traffic, broadcloths, kerseys,
Or suchlike; my voyage is to the Straits:
If you can supply me, sir, I'll be your chapman.
Brew. That I shall soon resolve you, sir.
Enter Factors.
Come hither, George.
O. Fos. This is the rich merchantman;
Mrs Fos. That's neither grave nor wise;
O. Fos. Who will kill a man at Tyburn shortly.
Mrs Fos. By carts that may arise;[91]
Or if the hangman die, he may have his office.
Brew. Then you have bargain'd, George?
George. And the ware carried home, sir; you must look
To be little gainer; but lose you cannot.
Brew. 'Tis all I desire from thence. Sir, I can furnish you
With wares I lately from your brother bought:
Please you go see them, for I would fain divide you,
Since I can win no nearer friendship.
Steph. I'll go with you, sir.
[Exeunt Brewen, Stephen, and George.
O. Fos. Take your adoption with you, sir.
Rob. I crave but your blessing with me, sir.
O. Fos. 'Tis my curse then; get thee out of mine eye:
Thou art a beam in't, and I'll tear it out,
Ere it offend to look on thee.[92]
Mrs Fos. Go, go, sir; follow your uncle-father,
Help him to spend what thrift has got together;
It will be charity in you to spend,
Because your charity it was to lend.
Rob. My charity! you can a virtue name,
And teach the use, yet never knew the same. [Exit.
Enter Richard.
O. Fos. See, wife, here comes Richard; now listen,
And hear me crown'd the wealthiest London merchant.
Why dost thou look so sadly?
Mrs Fos. Why dost not speak? hast lost thy tongue?
Rich. I never could speak worse.
O. Fos. Why, thy voice is good enough.
Rich. But the worst accent that ever you heard;
I speak a screech-owl's note. O, you have made
The most unhappiest bargain that ever merchant did!
O. Fos. Ha?
What can so baleful be, as thou wouldst seem
To make by this sad prologue? I am no traitor,
To confiscate my goods: speak, whate'er it be.
Rich. I would you could conceit it, that I might
Not speak it.
O. Fos. Dally not with torments,
Sink me at once.
Rich. Now you've spoke it half;
'Tis sinking I must treat of: your ships are all sunk.
O. Fos. Ha!
Mrs Fos. O thou fatal raven! let me pull thine eyes out
For this sad croak. [Flies at Richard.
O. Fos. Hold, woman! hold, prythee! 'tis none of his fault.
Mrs Fos. No, no, 'tis thine, thou wretch; and therefore
Let me turn my vengeance all on thee; thou
Hast made hot haste to empty all my warehouses,
And made room for that the sea hath drunk before thee.
O. Fos. Undone for ever! Where could this mischief fall?
Were not my ships in their full pride at Dover;
And what English Charybdis has the devil digg'd
To swallow nearer home.
Rich. Even in the mouth
And entrance of the Thames they were all cast away.
O. Fos. Dam up thy mouth
From any further mischievous relation.
Rich. Some men were sav'd, but not one pennyworth
Of goods.
O. Fos. Even now thy baleful utterance
Was chok'd, and now it runs too fast;
Thou fatal bird, no more.
Mrs Fos. May serpents breed,
And fill this fatal stream, and poison her for ever.
O. Fos. O, curse not; they come too fast!
Mrs Fos. Let me curse somewhere, wretch, or else I'll throw
Them all on thee; 'tis thou, ungodly slave,
That art the mark unto the wrath of heaven:
I thriv'd ere I knew thee.
O. Fos. I prythee, split me too.
Mrs Fos. I would I could! I would I had ne'er seen thee,
For I ne'er saw hour of comfort since I knew thee.
O. Fos. Undone for ever! My credit I have crack'd
To buy a venture, which the sea has soak'd;
What worse can woe report?
Mrs Fos. Yes, worse than all,
Thy enemies will laugh, and scorn thy fall.
O. Fos. Be it the worst, then: that place I did assign
My unthrifty brother, Ludgate, must now be mine.
Break, and take Ludgate.
Mrs Fos. Take Newgate rather.
O. Fos. I scorn'd my child, now he may scorn his father.
Mrs Fos. Scorn him still!
O. Fos. I will: would he my wants relieve,
I'd scorn to take what he would yield to give.
My heart be still my friend, although no other.
I'll scorn the help of either son or brother.
My portion's begging now: seldom before,
In one sad hour, was man so rich and poor. [Exeunt.
FOOTNOTES:
[77] There were several works published about this time containing the results of the various writers' experiences and observations in the new plantations in America.
[78] [Shafts.]
[79] You acquired citizenship in right of your father, and without personal service.
[80] An allusion to Godfrey of Boulogne or Bulloigne.
[81] Innocent, it must be remembered, in the language of our old dramatic writers, denotes an idiot.
[82] [Enjoy, in the sense of a man having knowledge of a woman.] Doll Tearsheet says of Pistol, in the "Second Part of Henry IV.," "These villains will make the word captain as odious as the word occupy, which, was an excellent good word before it was ill-sorted," [See Nares, edit. 1859, in v.; and Percy Folio MS. ("Loose and Humorous Songs," p. 29.)]
[83] "Tallies," says Johnson, "are sticks cut in conformity to others, by which accounts were kept." Jack Cade reproaches the Lord Say, "with having caused printing to be used, whereas before no other books were made use of by their forefathers but the score and tally. And Cade has the Exchequer Office on his side, where accounts are still partially kept after this most barbarous fashion."
[84] The name of a tooth-drawer, real or imaginary, who attended fairs. In 1592 Chettle printed his tract called "Kindhart's Dream." Dilke observes: "I am inclined to think, however, that kind-heart was the 'travelling name' of some notorious quack tooth-drawer, or a cant name given to the whole race of them. So the stage-keeper, in the induction to 'Bartholomew Fair,' when expressing his fear of the author's success, says: 'He has ne'er a sword-and-buckler man in his fair, nor a little Davy, to take toll of the bawds there, as in my time; nor a kind-heart, if anybody's teeth should chance to ake in his play.' And further, it is part of the 'covenant and agreement,' in the same induction, that the audience shall not 'look back to the sword-and-buckler age of Smithfield, but content themselves with the present. Instead of a little Davy, to take toll of the bawds, the author doth promise a strutting horse-courser, with a leer drunkard, two or three to attend him in as good equipage as you would wish. And then for kind-heart the tooth-drawer, a fine oily pig-woman, with,'" &c., &c. [Lambskin's reply is obviously allusive to the name by which Stephen has just addressed the widow.]
[85] The artemisia or southern wood is meant.
[86] Jane has been too successful in her play on the names and qualities of the flowers to have chosen this at random; and I am inclined to think the following extract from the "Winter's Tale" will serve to elucidate her meaning—
"The fairest flowers o' the season
Are our carnations and streak'd gilliflowers.
Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind
Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not
To get slips of them.
Pol. Wherefore, gentle maiden,
Do you neglect them?
Per. For I have heard it said,
There is an art, which, in their piedness, shares
With great creating nature."
"This art," says Steevens, in a note on that passage, "is pretended to be taught at the end of some of the old books that treat of cookery." As I understand the passage then, Jane means to say, I have such good qualities and beauty as nature has given, but none that are produced by art. If the passage be thus understood, the opposition of the rose and the gilliflower is complete. If the reader is not satisfied with this conjecture, I will further suggest that gill-flirt was then a well-known term for a wanton; and Steevens has informed us that gilly'vors (the vulgar way of calling gilly-flowers) is still in use in Sussex to denote a harlot. Jane has spoken more than once of her honesty, and here may be the allusion.
[87] [Old copy, and.]
[88] [The 4o reads eares.]
[89] [Old copy, new to.]
[90] [Or, Jack will be a gentleman. This is a common proverb. It occurs in "A Garden of Spiritual Flowers," 1610, edit. 1638, part ii. p. 303.]
[91] These four lines seem to be a quotation, probably from some old ballad.
[92] Here is an evident allusion to two passages in the Gospel of St Matthew.