SCENE III.
Enter Cypher, like a Waterman.
Cyph. Pray, which is Master Plotwell?
Plot. I am he, friend;
What is your business?
Cyph. Sir, I should speak
With young Master Seathrift too.
Plot. Sir, at this time,
Although no crab, like you, to swim backward, he is
Of your element.
Cyph. Upon the water?
Plot. No,
But something that lives in't. If you but stay
Till he have slept himself a land-creature, you may
Chance see him come ashore here.
Tim. O—my head—
O—Captain—Master Francis—Captain—O——
Plot. That is his voice, sir.
Sea. Death o' my soul! my son!
Cyph. He is in drink, sir, is he?
Plot. Surely, friend, you are a witch;[232] he is so.
Cyph. Then I must tell the news to you: 'tis sad.
Plot. I'll hear't as sadly.
Cyph. Your uncle, sir, and Master Seathrift are
Both drown'd, some eight miles below Greenwich.
Plot. Drown'd!
Cyph. They went i' th' tilt-boat, sir, and I was one
O' th' oars that rowed him: a coal-ship did o'errun us.
I 'scaped by swimming; the two old gentlemen
Took hold of one another, and sunk together.
Bright. How some men's prayers are heard!
We did invoke
The sea this morning, and see, the Thames has took 'em.
Plot. It cannot be: such good news, gentlemen,
Cannot be true.
Ware. 'Tis very certain, sir.
'Twas talk'd upon th' Exchange.
Sea. We heard it too
In Paul's now, as we came.
Plot. There, friend, there is
A fare for you. I'm glad you 'scap'd; I had
Not known the news so soon else. [Gives him money.
Cyph. Sir, excuse me.
Plot. Sir, it is conscience; I do believe you might
Sue me in Chancery.
Cyph. Sir, you show the virtues of an heir.
Ware. Are you rich Warehouse's heir, sir?
Plot. Yes, sir, his transitory pelf,
And some twelve hundred pound a year in earth,
Is cast on me. Captain, the hour is come,
You shall no more drink ale, of which one draught
Makes cowards, and spoils valour; nor take off
Your moderate quart-glass. I intend to have
A musket for you, or glass-cannon, with
A most capacious barrel, which we'll charge
And discharge with the rich valiant grape
Of my uncle's cellar. Every charge shall fire
The glass, and burn itself i' th' filling, and look
Like a piece going off.
Quart. I shall be glad
To give thanks for you, sir, in pottle-draughts,
And shall love Scotch coal for this wreck the better,
As long as I know fuel.
Plot. Then my poet
No longer shall write catches or thin sonnets,
Nor preach in verse, as if he were suborn'd
By him that wrote the Whip,[233] to pen lean acts,
And so to overthrow the stage for want
Of salt or wit. Nor shall he need torment
Or persecute his Muse; but I will be
His god of wine t' inspire him. He shall no more
Converse with the five-yard butler who, like thunder,
Can turn beer with his voice, and roar it sour;
But shall come forth a Sophocles, and write
Things for the buskin. Instead of Pegasus,
To strike a spring with's hoof, we'll have a steel
Which shall but touch a butt, and straight shall flow
A purer, higher, wealthier Helicon.
Sale. Frank, thou shalt be my Phœbus. My next poem
Shall be thy uncle's tragedy, or the life
And death of two rich merchants.
Plot. Gentlemen,
And now, i' faith, what think you of the fish?
Ware. Why as we ought, sir, strangely.
Bright. But do you think it is a very fish?
New. 'Tis a man.
Plot. This valiant captain and this man of wit
First fox'd him, then transformed him. We will wake him,
And tell him the news. Ho, Master Timothy!
Tim. Plague take you, captain!
Plot. What, does your sack work still?
Tim. Where am I?
Plot. Come, y' have slept enough.
Bright. Master Timothy!
How, in the name of fresh cod, came you chang'd
Into a sea-calf thus?
New. 'Slight, sir, here be
Two fishmongers to buy you; bate the price,
Now y' are awake, yourself.
Tim. How's this? my hands
Transmuted into claws? my feet made flounders?
Array'd in fins and scales? Aren't you
Asham'd to make me such a monster? Pray,
Help to undress me.
Plot. We have rare news for you.
Tim. No letter from the lady, I hope.
Plot. Your father
And my grave uncle, sir, are cast away.
Tim. How?
Plot. They by this have made a meal
For jacks and salmon: they are drown'd.
Bright. Fall down,
And worship sea-coals; for a ship of them
Has made you, sir, an heir.
Plot. This fellow here
Brings the auspicious news: and these two friends
Of ours confirm it.
Cyph. 'Tis too true, sir.
Tim. Well,
We are all mortal; but in what wet case
Had I been now, if I had gone with him!
Within this fortnight I had been converted
Into some pike; you might ha' cheapen'd me
In Fish Street; I had made an ordinary,
Perchance, at the Mermaid.[234] Now could I cry
Like any image in a fountain, which
Runs lamentations. O my hard misfortune! [He feigns to weep.
Sea. Fie, sir! good truth, it is not manly in you
To weep for such a slight loss as a father.
Tim. I do not cry for that.
Sea. No?
Tim. No, but to think,
My mother is not drown'd too.
Sea. I assure you,
And that's a shrewd mischance.
Tim. For then might I
Ha' gone to th' counting-house, and set at liberty
Those harmless angels, which for many years
Have been condemn'd to darkness.
Plot. You'd not do
Like your penurious father, who was wont
To walk his dinner out in Paul's, whilst you
Kept Lent at home, and had, like folk in sieges,
Your meals weigh'd to you.
New. Indeed they say he was
A monument of Paul's.
Tim. Yes, he was there
As constant as Duke Humphrey.[235] I can show
The prints where he sat holes i' th' logs.
Plot. He wore
More pavement out with walking than would make
A row of new stone-saints, and yet refused
To give to th' reparation.[236]
Bright. I've heard
He'd make his jack go empty to cosen neighbours.
Plot. Yes, when there was not fire enough to warm
A mastich-patch t' apply to his wife's temples,
In great extremity of toothache. This is
True, Master Timothy, is't not?
Tim. Yes: then linen
To us was stranger than to Capuchins.
My flesh is of an order with wearing shirts
Made of the sacks that brought o'er cochineal,
Copperas, and indigo. My sister wears
Smocks made of currant-bags.
Sea. I'll not endure it:
Let's show ourselves. [Aside.
Ware. Stay: hear all first. [Aside.
New. Thy uncle was such another.
Plot. I have heard
He still last left th' Exchange; and would commend
The wholesomeness o' th' air in Moorfields, when
The clock struck three sometimes.
Plot. Surely myself,
Cypher, his factor, and an ancient cat
Did keep strict diet, had our Spanish fare,
Four olives among three. My uncle would
Look fat with fasting; I ha' known him surfeit
Upon a bunch of raisins, swoon at sight
Of a whole joint, and rise an epicure
From half an orange. [They undisguise.
Ware. Gentlemen, 'tis false.
Cast off your cloud. D'ye know me, sir?
Plot. My uncle!
Sea. And do you know me, sir?
Tim. My father!
Ware. Nay,
We'll open all the plot; reveal yourself.
Plot. Cypher, the waterman!
Quart. Salewit, away!
I feel a tempest coming.
[Exit Quartfield and Salewit.
Ware. Are you struck
With a torpedo, nephew?
Sea. Ha' you seen too
A Gorgon's head, that you stand speechless? or
Are you a fish in earnest?
Bright. It begins to thunder.
New. We will make bold to take our leaves.
Ware. What, is your captain fled?
Sea. Nay, gentlemen, forsake your company!
Bright. Sir, we have business. [Exeunt Bright and Newcut.
Sea. Troth, it is not kindly done.
Ware. Now, Master Seathrift,
You see what mourners we had had, had we
Been wreck'd in earnest. My griev'd nephew here
Had made my cellar flow with tears; my wines
Had charg'd glass-ordnance; our funerals had been
Bewail'd in pottle-draughts.
Sea. And at our graves
Your nephew and my son had made a panegyric,
And open'd all our virtues.
Ware. Ungrateful monster!
Sea. Unnatural villain!
Ware. Thou enemy to my blood!
Sea. Thou worse than parricide!
Ware. Next my sins, I do repent I am thy uncle.
Sea. And I thy father.
Ware. Death o' my soul! Did I, when first thy father
Broke in estate, and then broke from the compter,
Where Master Seathrift laid him in the hole
For debt, among the ruins of the city
And trades like him blown up, take thee from dust,
Give thee free education, put thee in
My own fair way of traffic—nay, decree
To leave thee jewels, land, my whole estate;
Pardon'd thy former wildness; and couldst thou sort
Thyself with none but idle gallants, captains,
And poets, who must plot before they eat,
And make each meal a stratagem? Then could none
But I be subject of thy impious scoffs?
I swoon at sight of meat! I rise a glutton
From half an orange! Wretch, forgetful wretch!
'Fore Heaven, I count it treason in my blood
That gives thee a relation. But I'll take
A full revenge. Make thee my heir! I'll first
Adopt a slave brought from some galley; one
Which laws do put into the inventory,
And men bequeath in wills with stools and brasspots;
One who shall first be household-stuff, then my heir;
Or, to defeat all thy large aims, I'll marry.
Cypher, go, find me Bannswright; he shall straight
Provide me a wife: I will not stay to let
My resolution cool. Be she a wench
That every day puts on her dowry, wears
Her fortunes, has no portion, so she be
Young, and likely to be fruitful, I'll have her:
By all that's good, I will: this afternoon!
I will about it straight.
Sea. I follow you. [Exeunt Warehouse, Cypher.
And as for you, Tim, mermaid, triton, haddock,
The wondrous Indian fish caught near Peru,
Who can be of both elements, your sight
Will keep you well. Here I do cast thee off,
And in thy room pronounce to make thy sister
My heir: it would be most unnatural
To leave a fish land. 'Las! sir, one of your
Bright fins and gills must swim in seas of sack,
Spout rich canaries up like whales in maps:[237]
I know you'll not endure to see my jack
Go empty, nor wear shirts of copperas-bags,
Nor fast in Paul's, you! I do hate thee now
Worse than a tempest, quicksand, pirate, rock,
Or fatal lake, ay, or a privy-seal.[238]
Go, let the captain make you drunk, and let
Your next change be into some ape—'tis stale
To be a fish twice—or some active baboon:
And, when you can find money out, betray
What wench i' th' room has lost her maidenhead;
Can mount to the king, and can do all your feats,
If your fine chain and yellow coat come near
Th' Exchange, I'll see you. So I leave you. [Exit Seathrift.
Plot. Now,
Were there a dext'rous beam and twopence hemp,
Never had man such cause to hang himself.
Tim. I have brought myself to a fine pass too. Now
Am I fit only to be caught, and put
Into a pond to leap carps, or beget
A goodly race of pick'rel.