FOOTNOTES:
[36] i.e., Intoxicate a fly.
[37] The 4o reads a pair of sheets, but evidently wrong. See Marston's "Malcontent," iv. 5.
[38] [These words seem to have dropped out of the old copy, as Alexander immediately after puns on the word rare (pronounced sometimes like raw).]
[39] i.e., A fool's coat, such as the jesters or fools anciently wore. See notes to "Tempest," act iii. sc. 2, by Dr Johnson and Mr Steevens.
[40] Copesmate Dr Johnson conjectures to be the same as copsmate, a companion in drinking, or one that dwells under the same cope, or house. I find the word used in "The Curtain-Drawer of the World," 1612, p. 31, but not according to either of the above explanations. "Hee that trusts a tradesman on his word, a usurer with his bond, a phisitian with his body, and the divell with his soule, needes not care who he trusts afterwards, nor what copesmate encounters him next."
Copesmate, I believe, means only companion, a word which was used both in a bad and good sense by our ancestors. To cope is to meet with, to encounter. Thus Hamlet—
"As e'er my conversation cop'd withall."
—Steevens.
Again, in Wither's "Abuses Stript and Whipt," 1613, bk. ii. s. 1—
"Nay be advised (quoth his copesmate) harke,
Lets stay all night, for it grows pest'lence darke."
[41] See note to "Gammer Gurton's Needle," [iii. 178], and also the notes of Dr Percy, Mr Steevens, and Mr Tollet, to the "First Part of King Henry IV.," act i. sc. 2.
[42] [A constant allusion in our old plays.]
[43] This reply, and the preceding question of Randall, were omitted by Dodsley and Reed.
[44] [It is still a common expression, that a person will "see his grandmother" after taking so and so.]
[45] Mr Reed allowed it to stand continuance instead of discontinuance, which made nonsense of the passage.—Collier.
[46] See note to "Romeo and Juliet," act ii. sc. 3, vol. x. edit. 1778.—Steevens.
[47] [Old copy and former editions, pigme. The peony is very apt to be nipped by the frost, and so to be pinched up; hence Sim's similitude.]
[48] One of the miscellaneous collections of songs and poems, formerly published, called "Garlands." The names of a great number of these, and, amongst the rest, "The Garland of Good-will," by T. D., [1604,] are enumerated in [Hazlitt's "Handbook," 1867, art. Garlands, Deloney, &c.]
[49] [A play on the similarity between lye and lie, the former being the dregs or lees of beer.]
[50] [Moll and Malkin are the same, of course. Ear-lack, just after, plays on the meanings of the words bed and stuff.]
[51] Flechier, Fr., a maker of arrows. We have still the Fletchers' Company in the city of London.
[52] [The Poultry in Wood Street is meant.]
[53] [Former edits., Tributie.]
[54] [The "Mirror of Knighthood," better known as the "Knight of the Sun," a romance in nine parts, translated into English by Margaret Tyler and others, between 1579 and 1601. Complete sets are of the greatest rarity. The bibliography of the work may be seen in Hazlitt v. Knight of the Sun.]
It appears that Thomas Este, the printer, [originally] undertook the publication of this work, which is executed by different translators, and dedicated to different patrons. Margaret Tyler (thine to use, as she says at the conclusion of her address to the reader) having no concern with any part but the first.—Steevens.
[55] Tim means to ask, is it four or six shilling beer, supposing that such was the beverage, to which the Captain replies scornfully, Four or six! 'Tis rich Canary, &c. This was omitted by Mr Reed.—Collier.
[56] [Former edits., Pox on you heilding. Heildom is a health, and the lieutenant means to say that Tim should propose one.]
[57] [See Dyce's Middleton, i. 66.]
[58] This battle was fought at Weisenberg, near Prague, 18th November 1620, and was fatally decisive against the Elector Palatine who, in consequence of it, not only lost his new kingdom of Bohemia, but also was deprived by the Emperor of his hereditary dominions.
[59] [In the former edits, this passage stands, "jeers ye puffs really of.">[
[60] Tim, who has hidden or ensconced himself, looks out, and not the Captain, as Mr Reed made it, by misplacing the stage direction.—Collier.
[61] A sconce is a petty fortification. The verb to ensconce occurs more than once in Shakespeare. See note on "The Merry Wives of Windsor," act ii. sc. 2.—Steevens. [This note amounts to nothing, as the word ensconce is very common, and all that is here intended is that Tim, frightened at the Ancient, had hidden himself behind a chest of drawers (a very petty fortification!) or some other article of furniture.]
[62] i.e., Whether. It is frequently so [spelled] in ancient writers. See Ben Jonson's "New Inn," act v. sc. 2., and Mr Whalley's note, [Gifford's edit., v. 428.]
[63] From a passage in "Ram Alley," [x. 313], it has already appeared there were two taverns at this time with the same sign.
[64] [Former edits., he.]
[ACT III., SCENE I.]
Enter John and the Maid.
John. But, sirrah, canst tell what my mistress means to do with her suitors?
Maid. Nay, nay, I know not; but there is one of them, I am sure, worth looking after.
John. Which is he, I prythee?
Maid. O John, Master Randall, John.
John. The Welshman?
Maid. The witty man, the pretty man, the singing-man. He has the daintiest ditty, so full of pith, so full of spirit, as they say.
John. Ditties! they are the old ends of ballads.[65]
Maid. Old ends! I am sure they are new beginnings with me.
John. Here comes my mistress.
Enter Widow and Jarvis.
Wid. Who was that knocked at the gate?
Jar. Why, your Welsh wooer.
Maid. Alas! the sight on's eyes is enough to singe my little maidenhead. I shall never be able to endure him. [Exit Maid.
Enter Randall.
Ran.
When high King Henry rul'd this land,[66]
The couple of her name,
Besides hur queen was tearly lov'd,
A fair and princely—widows.
Hark you, widows; Randalls was disturbed in cogitations about lands, ploughs, and cheesepresses in Wales; and, by cat, hur have forgot where hur and hur meet soon at pright dark evenings.
Wid. Why, on the 'Change, in the Dutch walks.
Ran. O haw, have hur? but Randalls was talk no Dutch; pray meet her in the Welsh walk. Was no Welsh walk there?
Wid. Fie, no! There are no Welsh merchants there?
Ran. Mass, was fery true, was all shentlemen in Wales. Hur never saw hur shambermaid; pray, where was her shambermaid?
Jar. Taken up i' th' kitchen, sir.
Ran. Can hur make wedding-ped pravely for Randalls and widows?
Wid. Pray tell him, Jarvis, whe'r[67] she can or no.
Jar. Sir, not to delay, but to debilitate the strength of your active apprehension of my mistress's favour——
Ran. Was fery good words.
Jar. Hark in your ear: she will have her nest feathered with no British breed.
Ran. Sounds, was not British so good as English?
Jar. Yes, where there's wisdom, wit, and valour; but, as amongst our English, we may have one fool, a knave, a coxcomb, and a coward, she bid me tell you, she has seen such wonders come out of Wales. In one word,[68] you're an ass, and she'll have none of you.
Ran. Augh, Saint Tavie, Owen, Morgan, and all hur cousins! was widow herself say so?
Wid. Good sir, let every circumstance make up one answer, take it with you.
Jar. And the Roman answer is, the English goose, sir.[69]
Ran. Sounds! hur was kill now! Gog and Gogmagog! a whole dozen of shiants. Make fool of Randalls! Randalls was wisht to as prave match as widows; was know one Mary Bloodhound, was ha' all, when her father kick up heels; and, by cat, though hur never saw hur, hur will send hur love-letters presently, get hur good-wills, and go to shurch and marry, and hur were eight-and-thirty, two hundred and nine and fifty widows. Mark hur now. [Exit Randall.
Jar. He pelts as he goes pitifully.
Wid. Where's Mary?
John. Mary!
Enter Maid.
Wid. Pray go to Aldgate, to my sempstress, for my ruff; I must use it, say, to-morrow. Did ye bid her hollow it just in the French fashion cut?
Maid. Yes, forsooth.
Wid. 'Twas well; we have no other proof in use that we are English, if we do not zany them. Let John go with you.
Maid. Yes, forsooth. [Exit.
Jar. But pray, forsooth, how do you mean to dispose of your suitors?
Wid. Shall I tell thee? For this, thou hast given him his cure, and he is past care; for old Bloodhound the sawmonger, I writ to him to meet me soon, at ten in the dark, upon the 'Change; and if I come not by ten, he should stay till twelve: intimating something mystically that, to avoid surprisals of other rivals, I mean to go from thence with him to lie at his house all night, and go to church with him i' th' morning; when my meaning is only knavery, to make myself merry, and let him cool his heels[70] there till morning.
Jar. And now have I a whimsy, newly jumped into the coll of ingenious apprehension, to sauce him daintily; that for that. What think you of the gentleman that brought a stool with him out of the hall, and sat down at dinner with you in the parlour?
Wid. They say he's an ancient, but I affect not his colours.
Jar. But what say you to the mad, victorious Alexander?
Wid. A wild, mad roarer, a trouble not worth minding.
Jar. He will mind you ere morning, troth, mistress. [Aside.] There waits a gentleman i' th' next room that hath a long time loved you, and has watched for such an hour, when all was out of doors, to tell you so; and, none being within but you and I, he desires you would hear him speak, and there's an end on't.
Wid. What is he?
Jar. An honest man.
Wid. How know you?
Jar. Why, he told me so.
Wid. And why were you such a fool to take his own word.
Jar. Because all the wit I had could get nobody's else.
Wid. A knave will ever tell you he's an honest man.
Jar. But an honest man will never tell you he's a knave.
Wid. Well, sir, your mistress dares look upon the honest man.
Jar. And the honest man dares look upon my mistress. [Exit.
Wid. 'Tis the roughest, bluntest fellow. Yet, when I take young Bloodhound to a retired collection of scattered judgment, which often lies disjointed with the confused distraction of so many, methinks he dwells in my opinion a right ingenious[71] spirit, veiled merely with the vanity of youth and wildness. He looks, methinks, like one that could retract himself from his mad starts, and, when he pleased, turn tame. His handsome wildness, methinks, becomes him, could he keep it bounded in thrift and temperance. But down, these thoughts; my resolve rests here in private.
But from a fool, a miser, and a man too jealous for a little sweetness [in] love, Cupid defend me!
Enter Jarvis like a gentleman, very brave, with his former clothes in his hand.[72]
Jar. And to a widow wise, nobly liberal and discreetly credulous, Cupid hath sent me.
Wid. Pray prove you, as you appear, a gentleman.
Why, Jarvis?
Jar. Look you, here's Jarvis hangs by geometry [Hangs up his livery]; and here's the gentleman—for less I am not—that afar off, taken with the fainted praises of your wealthy beauty, your person, wisdom, modesty, and all that can make woman gracious, in this habit sought and obtained your service.
Wid. For heaven's sake whats your intent?
Jar. I love you.
Wid. Pray, keep off.
Jar. I would keep from you. Had my desires bodies,
How I could beat them into better fashion,
And teach them temperance. For I rid to find you;
And, at a meeting amongst many dames,
I saw you first. O, how your talking eyes,
Those active, sparkling sweet, discoursing[73] twins,
In their strong captivating motion told me
The story of your heart! A thousand Cupids,
Methought, sat playing on that pair of crystals,[74]
Carrying, to the swiftness of covetous fancy,
The very letters we spell love with.
Wid. Fie, fie!
Jar. I have struck her to the heart, though my face
Apparelled with this shield of gravity, [bear][75]
The neglected roughness of a soldier's dart.
These diamond-pointed eyes but hither throw,
And you will see a young spring on't; but question
Time's fair ones, they'll confess, though with a blush.
They have often found good wine at an old bush.
My blood is young, and full of amorous heats,
Which but branch'd out into these lusty veins,
Would play and dally, and in wanton turnings
Would teach you strange constructions, [madam.]
Let time and place then, with love's old friend,
Opportunity, instruct you to be wise.
Wid. Alas, sir!
Where learned you to catch occasions thus?
Jar. Of a lawyer's clerk, wench, that, with six such catches, leaped in five years from his desk to his coach, drawn with four horses.
Wid. Do you mean marriage?
Jar. Marriage is a cloying meat; marry who thou woot to make a show to shroud thee from the storms round-headed opinion, that sways all the world, may let fall on thee. Me cousin thou shalt call. Once in a month or so, I'll read false letters from a far-distant uncle, insert his commendations to thee, hug thy believing husband into a pair of handsome horns; look upon him with one eye, and wink upon thee with the other. Wouldst have any more?
Wid. The return of servants, or some friendly visit, will intercept us now: re-assume your habit, and be but Jarvis till to-morrow morning, and, by the potent truth of friendship, I will give you plenty of cause to confess I love you truly and strongly.
Jar. You're in earnest?
Wid. On my life, serious; let this kiss seal it.
Jar. The softest wax ever sealed bawdy business! Now for old Bloodhound: I'll meet you upon the 'Change, sir, with a blind bargain, and then help your son to a good pennyworth; this night shall be all mirth, a mistress of delight. [Exeunt.
Enter Bloodhound,[76] Sim, and Moll.
Blood. Nay, nay, nay, mark what follows; I must bring her home i' th' dark, turn her up to bed, and here she goes to church. My cloak, sirrah.
Sim. 'Tis a very dark night, sir; you'll not have a cloak for the rain.[77]
Blood. I'm going to steal the widow from I know not how many.
Sim. Nay, then I'll let your cloak for the rain alone, and fetch you a cloak for your knavery.
Blood. To bed, to bed, good Sim. What, Moll, I say!
Moll. Sir.
Blood. I charge you, let not one be up i' th' house but yourself after the clock strikes ten, nor a light be stirring. Moll, trick up the green bed-chamber very daintily.
Moll. I shall, sir.
Blood. And—well-remembered, Moll—the keys of my compting-house are in the left pocket of my hose[78] above i' th' wicker chair; look to them, and have a care of the black box there I have often told thee of: look to that as to thy maidenhead.
Moll. I shall, sir.
Blood. Pray for me, all; pray for me, all.
Sim. Have you left out anything for supper?
Blood. Out, rogue! shall not I be at infinite expense to-morrow? fast to-night, and pray for me.
Sim. An old devil in a greasy satin doublet keep you company! [Aside.
Blood. Ha, what's that?
Sim. I say, the satin doublet you will wear to-morrow will be the best in the company, sir.
Blood. That's true, that's true. I come, widow, I come, wench. [Exit Bloodhound.
Moll. O sweet Sim, what shall I do to-morrow? To-morrow must be the day, the doleful day, the dismal day! Alas, Sim! what dost thou think in thy conscience I shall do with an old man?
Sim. Nay, you're well enough served; you know how your brother, not an hour ago, lay at you to have the Ancient, one that your teeth e'en water at; and yet you cry, I cannot love him, I wonnot have him.
Moll. I could willingly marry him, if I might do nothing but look on him all day, where he might not see me; but to lie with him—alas! I shall be undone the first night.
Sim. That's true: how will you go to bed else? But, remember, he is a man of war, an ancient, you are his colours: now, when he has nimbly displayed you, and handsomely folded you up against the next fight, then we shall have you cry, O sweet Sim, I had been undone, if I had not been undone.[79]
Moll. Nay, and then the old fellow would mumble me to bed.
Sim. Abed! a bawd with two teeth would not mumble bacon so: then he is so sparing, you shall wear nothing but from the broker's at second-hand; when, being an ancient's wife, you shall be sure to flourish.
Moll. Prythee, go in and busy the old man with a piece of Reynard the Fox,[80] that he may not disturb us; for at this hour I expect Ancient Young and my brother.
Sim. Well, I leave you to the managing of Ancient Young, while I go in and flap the old man i' th' mouth with a fox-tail. [Exit.
Enter Alexander and Ancient.
Moll. Look, look, an' he have not brought him just upon the minute. O sweet, silken Ancient, my mind gives me thee and I shall dance the shaking of the sheets[81] together.
Alex. Now, you Mistress Figtail, is the wind come about yet? I ha' brought the gentleman: do not you tell him now, you had rather have his room than his company, and so show your breeding.
Moll. Now, fie upon you; by this light you're the wickedest fellow! My brother but abuses you: pray, sir, go over again, you've a handsome spying wit, you may send more truth over in one of your well-penned pamphlets, than all the weekly news we buy for our penny.
Anc. Pox on't! I'll stay no longer.
Alex. 'Sfoot, thou shalt stay longer; we'll stay her heart—her guts out.
Moll. Ha, ha! how will you do for a sister then?
Alex. Prythee, Moll, do but look upon him.
Moll. Yes, when I ha' no better object.
Alex. What canst thou see in him, thou unhandsome hideous thing, that merits not above thee?
Moll. What would I give to kiss him! [Aside.
Alex. Has he not a handsome body, straight legs,[82] a good face?
Moll. Yes, but his lips look as if they were as hard as his heart.
Anc. 'Sfoot, shalt try that presently.
Moll. You're basely, sir, conditioned. Pah!
Alex. Why do you spit?
Moll. You may go. By this light, he kisses sweetly. [Aside.
Alex. Do but stay a little, Moll: prythee, Moll, thou knowest my father has wronged him; make him amends, and marry him.
Moll. Sweet Master Spendall, spare your busy breath; I must have a wise man, or else none.
Alex. And is not he a wise man?
Moll. No.
Alex. Why?
Moll. Because he keeps a fool company.
Alex. Why, you are now in's company.
Moll. But birds of a feather will fly together; and you and he are seldom asunder.
Alex. Why, you young witch, call your elder brother fool! But go thy ways, and keep thy maidenhead till it grow more deservedly despised than are the old base boots of a half-stewed pander: lead a Welsh morris with the apes in hell amongst the little devils; or, when thou shalt lie sighing by the side of some rich fool, remember, thou thing of thread and needles, not worth threepence halfpenny.
Moll. Too late, I fear; I ha' been too coy. [Aside.] You are to be married then, sir?
Anc. I am indeed, sweet mistress, to a maid Of excellent parentage, breeding, and beauty.
Alex. I ha' thought of such musicians for thee!
Anc. But let it not be any way distasteful unto you, that thus I tried you; for your brother persuaded me to pretend to love you, that he might perceive how your mind stood to marriage, in that, as I guess, he has a husband kept in store for you.
Alex. Ay, I have provided a husband for thee, Moll.
Moll. But I'll have no husband of your providing; for, alas! now I shall have the old man, whether I will or no.
Alex. I have such a stripling for thee, he wants one eye, and is crooked-legged; but that was broke at football.
Anc. Alas! we cannot mould men, you know.
Alex. He's rich, he's rich, Moll.
Moll. I hate him and his riches. Good sir, are you to be married in earnest?
Alex. In earnest! Why, do you think men marry, as fencers sometimes fight, in jest? Shall I show her Mistress Elizabeth's letter I snatched from thee? [To Ancient.
Anc. Not, and thou lovest me.
Moll. Good brother, let me see it; sweet brother, dainty brother, honey brother.
Alex. No indeed, you shall not see it, sweet sister, dainty sister, honey sister.
Moll. O good sir, since so long time I have loved you, let me not die for your sake.
Alex. The tide turns. [Aside.
Anc. Long time loved me!
Moll. Long ere you went to sea, I did.
I have lov'd you very long with all my heart.
Alex. Think of Bess, think of Bess; 'tis the better match.
Moll. You wicked brother! Indeed I love you better than all the Besses in the world; and if to-night I shift not into better fortunes, to-morrow I am made the miserablest wife marriage and misery can produce.
Alex. Is't possible?
Moll. Alas, sir! I am to marry an old man—a very old man, trust me. I was strange[83] in the nice timorous temper of a maid: I know 'tis against our sex to say we love; but rather than match with sixty and ten, threescore and ten times I would tell you so, and tell them ten times over, too. Truth loves not virtue with more of virtuous truth than I do you; and wonnot you love me then? [Weeps.
Anc. And lie with thee too, by this hand, wench. Come, let us have fair weather; thou art mine, and I am thine; there's an end o' th' business. This was but a trick, there's the projector.
Moll. O, you're a sweet brother!
Alex. And now thou'rt my sweet sister. I know the old man's gone to meet with an old wench that will meet with him,[84] or Jarvis has no juice in his brains; and while I, i' th' meantime, set another wheel agoing at the widow's, do thou soon—about ten, for 'tis to be very conveniently dark—meet this gentleman at the Nag's Head corner, just against Leadenhall. We lie in Lime Street; thither he shall carry thee, accommodate thee daintily all night with Mistress Dorothy, and marry i' th' morning very methodically.
Moll. But I have the charge of my father's keys, where all his writings lie.
Anc. How all things jump in a just equivalency,
To keep thee from the thing of threescore and ten!
Didst thou not see my mortgage lately there?
Moll. Stay, stay.
Alex. A white devil with a red fox-tail in a black box. [Aside.
Moll. But yesterday my father showed it me, and swears, if I pleased him well, it should serve to jump[85] out my portion.
Anc. Prove thine old dad a prophet; bring it with thee, wench.
Moll. But now, at's parting, he charged me to have a care to that as to my maidenhead.
Alex. Why, if he have thy maidenhead and that into the bargain, thy charge is performed. Away, get thee in, forget not the hour; and you had better fight under Ancient Young's colours than the old man's standard of sixty and ten.
Anc.[86] Remember this, mad-brain! [Exeunt.