SCENA QUARTA.
Enter Clarence, Musicians.
Cla. Worke on, sweet love; I am not yet resolved
T'exhaust this troubled spring of vanities
And Nurse of perturbations, my poore life,
And therefore since in every man that holds
This being deare, there must be some desire,
Whose power t'enjoy his object may so maske
The judging part, that in her radyant eyes
His estimation of the World may seeme
Vpright, and worthy, I have chosen love
To blind my Reason with his misty hands
And make my estimative power beleive
I have a project worthy to imploy
What worth so ever my whole man affordes:
Then sit at rest, my soule, thou now hast found
The end of thy infusion; in the eyes
Of thy divine Eugenia looke for Heaven.
Thanks gentle friends. [A song to the Violls.
Is your good Lord, and mine, gon up to bedd yet?
Enter Momford.
Mom. I do assure ye not, sir, not yet, nor yet, my deepe, and studious friend; not yet, musicall Clarence.
Cla. My Lord?
Mom. Nor yet, thou sole divider of my Lordshippe.
Cla. That were a most unfit division, And farre above the pitch of my low plumes; I am your bold, and constant guest my Lord.
Mom. Far, far from bold, for thou hast known me long
Almost these twenty yeeres, and halfe those yeeres
Hast bin my bed-fellow; long time before
This unseene thing, this thing of naught indeed,
Or Atome cald my Lordshippe shind in me,
And yet thou mak'st thy selfe as little bould
To take such kindnes, as becomes the Age
And truth of our indissolable love,
As our acquaintance sprong but yesterday;
Such is thy gentle, and too tender spirit.
Cla. My Lord, my want of Courtship makes me feare
I should be rude, and this my meane estate
Meetes with such envie, and detraction,
Such misconstructions and resolud misdoomes
Of my poore worth, that should I be advaunce'd
Beyond my unseene lowenes, but one haire,
I should be torne in peeces with the Spirits
That fly in ill-lungd tempests through the world,
Tearing the head of vertue from her shoulders
If she but looke out of the ground of glorie.
Twixt whom and me, and every worldly fortune
There fights such sowre, and curst Antipathy,
So waspish and so petulant a Starre,
That all things tending to my grace or good
Are ravisht from their object, as I were
A thing created for a wildernes,
And must not thinke of any place with men.
Mom. O harke you Sir, this waiward moode of yours Must sifted be, or rather rooted out. Youle no more musick Sir?
Cla. Not now, my Lord.
Mom. Begon my masters then to bedd, to bedd.
Cla. I thanke you, honest friends.
[Exeunt Musicians.
Mo. Hence with this book, and now, Mounsieur Clarence, me thinks plaine and prose friendship would do excellent well betwixt us: come thus, Sir, or rather thus, come. Sir, tis time I trowe that we both liv'd like one body, thus, and that both our sides were slit, and concorporat with Organs fit to effect an individuall passage even for our very thoughts; suppose we were one body now, and I charge you beleeve it; whereof I am the hart, and you the liver.
Cla. Your Lordship might well make that division[12], if you knew the plaine song.
Mo. O Sir, and why so I pray?
Cla. First because the heart, is the more worthy entraile, being the first that is borne, and moves, and the last that moves, and dies; and then being the Fountaine of heate too: for wheresoever our heate does not flow directly from the hart to the other Organs there, their action must of necessity cease, and so without you I neither would nor could live.
Mom. Well Sir, for these reasons I may be the heart, why may you be the liver now?
Cla. I am more then asham'd, to tell you that my Lord.
Mom. Nay, nay, be not too suspitious of my judgement in you I beseech you: asham'd friend? if your love overcome not that shame, a shame take that love, I saie. Come sir, why may you be the liver?
Cla. The plaine, and short truth is (my Lord) because I am all liver, and turn'd lover.
Mom. Lover?
Cla. Lover, yfaith my Lord.
Mom. Now I prethee let me leape out of my skin for joy: why thou wilt not now revive the sociable mirth of thy sweet disposition? wilt thou shine in the World anew? and make those that have sleighted thy love with the Austeritie of thy knowledge, dote on thee againe with thy commanding shaft of their humours?
Cla. Alas, my Lord, they are all farre out of my aime; and only to fit my selfe a little better to your friendshippe, have I given these wilfull raynes to my affections.
Mom. And yfaith is my sower friend to all worldly desires ouer taken with the hart of the World, Love? I shall be monstrous proud now, to heare shees every way a most rare woman, that I know thy spirit, and judgement hath chosen; is she wise? is she noble? is she capable of thy vertues? will she kisse this forehead with judiciall lipps where somuch judgement and vertue deserves it? Come brother Twin, be short, I charge you, and name me the woman.
Cla. Since your Lordship will shorten the length of my follies relation, the woman that I so passionately love, is no worse Lady then your owne Neece, the too worthy Countesse Eugenia.
Mom. Why so, so, so, you are a worthy friend, are you not, to conceale this love-mine in your head, and would not open it to your hart? now beshrow my hart, if my hart danse not for joy, tho my heeles do not; and they doe not, because I will not set that at my heeles that my friend sets at his heart? friend, and Nephews both? nephew is a far inferior title to friend I confesse, but I will preferre thee backwards (as many friends doe) and leave their friends woorse then they found them.
Cla. But, my noble Lord, it is almost a prodegie, that I being onely a poore Gentleman, and farre short of that state and wealth that a Ladie of her greatnesse in both will expect in her husband—
Mom. Hold thy doubt friend, never feare any woman, unlesse thyselfe be made of straw, or some such drie matter, and she of lightning. Audacitie prospers above probability in all Worldly matters. Dost not thou know that Fortune governes them without order, and therefore reason the mother of order is none of her counsaile? why should a man desiring to aspire an unreasonable creature, which is a woman, seeke her fruition by reasonable meanes? because thy selfe binds upon reason, wilt thou looke for congruity in a woman? why? there is not one woman amongst one thousand, but will speake false Latine, and breake Priscians head. Attempt nothing that you may with great reason doubt of and out of doubt you shall obtaine nothing. I tell thee, friend, the eminent confidence of strong spirits is the onely witch-craft of this World, Spirits wrastling with spirits as bodies with bodies: this were enough to make thee hope well, if she were one of these painted communities, that are ravisht with Coaches, and upper hands,[13] and brave men of durt: but thou knowest friend shees a good scholler, and like enough to bite at the rightest reason, and reason evermore Ad optima hortatur: to like that which is best, not that which is bravest, or rightest, or greatest, and so consequently worst. But prove what shee can, wee will turne her, and winde her, and make her so plyant, that we will drawe her thorugh a wedding ring yfaith.
Cla. Would to God we might, my Lord.
Mom. He warrant thee, friend.
Enter Messenger.
Mes. Here is Mistris Wynnifred from my Lady Eugenia desires to speake with your Lordshippe.
Mom. Marrie, enter, Mistris Wynnifred, even here I pray thee;—from the Lady Eugenia, doe you heare, friend?
Cla. Very easily on that side, my Lord.
Mom. Let me feele. Does not thy heart pant apace? by my hart, well labor'd Cupid, the field is yours, sir. God! and upon a very honourable composition. I am sent for now I am sure, and must even trusse, and to her.
Enter Wynnifred.
Witty Mistris Wynnifred, nay come neere, woman. I am sure this
Gentleman thinkes his Chamber the sweeter for your deare presence.
Wyn. My absence shall thanke him, my Lord.
Mom. What, rude? Mistris Wynnifred? nay faith you shall come to him, and kisse him, for his kindenesse.
Wyn. Nay good, my Lord, I'le never goe to the market for that ware, I can have it brought home to my Dore.
Mom. O Wynnifred, a man may know by the market-folkes how the market goes.
Wyn. So you may, my Lord, but I know few Lords that thinke scorne to go to that market themselves.
Mom. To goe to it Wynnifred? nay to ride to it yfaith.
Wyn. Thats more then I know my Lord.
Mom. Youle not beleeve it till you are then a horsebacke, will ye?
Wyn. Come, come, I am sent of a message to you, will you heare it?
Mom. Stoppe, stoppe, faire Wynnifred, would you have audience so soone, there were no state in that yfaith. This faire gentlewoman sir—
Wyn. Now we shall have a fiction I beleive.
Mom. Had three Suiters at once.
Wyn. Youle leave out none my Lord.
Mom. No more did you, Wynnifred: you enterferde with them all in truth.
Wyn. O Monstrous Lord by this light!
Mom. Now sir to make my tale short I will doe that which she did not; vz. leave out the two first. The third comming, the third night for his turne—
Wyn. My Lord, my Lord, my Lady does that that no body else does, desires your company; and so fare you well.
Mom. O stay a little sweet Wynnifred, helpe me but to trusse my Poynts againe, and have with you.
Wyn. Not I by my truth my Lord, I had rather see your hose about your heeles, then I would helpe you to trusse a poynt.
Mom. O witty Wynnifred? for that jest, take thy passeport, and tell thy Ladie[14], thou leftst me with my hose about my heeles.
Wyn. Well, well my Lord you shall sit till the mosse grow about your heeles, ere I come at you againe. [Exit.
Mom. She cannot abide to heare of her three Suiters, but is not this very fit my sweet Clarence? Thou seest my rare Neece cannot sleepe without me; but for thy company sake, she shall to night; and in the morning I will visit her earely; when doe thou but stand in that place, and thou maiest chance heare (but art sure to see) in what subtill, and farre-fetcht manner Ile solicite her about thee.
Cla. Thank's, worthy Lord.
[Exeunt.
Finis Actus Primi.
Actvs Secvndi.
SCENA PRIMA.
Clarence Solus.
Cla. I that have studied with world-skorning thoughts
The way of Heaven, and how trew Heaven is reacht
To know how mighty, and how many are
The strange affections of enchaunted number;
How to distinguish all the motions
Of the Celestiall bodies, and what power
Doth separate in such forme this massive Rownd;
What is his Essence, Efficacies, Beames,
Foot-steps, and Shadowes; what Eternesse[15] is,
The World, and Time, and Generation;
What Soule, the worlds Soule is, what the blacke Springs
And unreveald Originall of Things,
What their perseverance; what's life, and death,
And what our certaine Restauration;
Am with the staid-heads of this Time imploy'd
To watch with all my Nerves a Female shade.
Enter Wynnifred, Anabell, with their sowing workes and sing: After their song Enter Lord Momford.
Mom. Witty Mistrisse Wynnifred, where is your Countesse, I pray?
Wyn. Faith your Lordship is bould enough to seeke her out, if she were at her urinall?
Mom. Then sh'as done, it seemes, for here she comes to save me that labour; away, wenches, get you hence wenches. [Exeunt.
Eu. What, can you not abide my maides, unkle?
Mom. I never cood abide a maide in my life Neece, but either I draw away the maide, or the maidenhead with a wet finger[16].
Eug. You love to make your selfe worse then you are still.
Mom. I know few mend in this World, Madam. For the worse the better thought on, the better the worse spoken on ever amongst women.
Eu. I wonder where you have binne all this while with your sentences.
Mom. Faith where I must be againe presently. I cannot stay long with you my deere Neece.
Eu. By my faith but you shall, my Lord. Cods pittie what will become of you shortly, that you drive maids afore you, and offer to leave widowes behind you, as mankindelie as if you had taken a surfet of our Sex lately, and our very sight turnd your stomacke?
Mom. Cods my life, she abuses her best unkle; never trust me if it were not a good revenge to helpe her to the losse of her widow-head.
Eu. That were a revenge, and a halfe, indeed.
Mom. Nay twere but a whole revenge Neece, but such a revenge as would more then observe the true rule of a revenger.
Eu. I know your rule before you utter it, Vlciscere inimico [sic] sed sine tuo incommodo.
Mom. O rare Neece, you may see, what tis to be a scholler now; learning in a woman is like waight in gold, or luster in Diamants, which in no other Stone is so rich or refulgent.
Eug. But say deere Vnckle how could you finde in your heart to stay so long from me?
Mom. Why, alas Neece, y'are so smeard with this willfull widdows three-yeeres blacke weede, that I never come to you, but I dreame of Coarses, and Sepulchres, and Epitaphs, all the night after, and therefore adew deere Neece.
Eug. Beshrew my heart my Lord, if you goe theis three houres.
Mom. Three houres? nay Neece, if I daunce attendance three hours (alone in her Chamber) with any Lady so neere alide to me, I am very idle yfaith—Mary with such an other I would daunce, one, two, three, foure, and five, tho it cost me ten shillings. And now I am in, have at it! my head must devise something, while my feet are pidling thus, that may bring her to some fit consideration of my friend, who indeed is onely a great scholler, and all his honours, and riches lie in his minde.
Eu. Come, come, pray tell me uncle, how does my cosen Momford?
Mom. Why, well, very well Neece, and so is my friend Clarence well too, and then is there a worthy gentleman well as any is in England I can tell ye. [He daunceth speaking.
Eug. But when did you see my Cosen?
Mom. And tis pitty but he should do well, and he shall be well too, if all my wealth will make him well.
Eug. What meanes he by this, tro? your Lord is very dancitive me thinkes.
Mom. I, and I could tell you a thing would make your Ladyship very dancitive, or else it were very dunsative yfaith. O how the skipping of this Christmas blocke of ours moves the block-head heart of a woman and indeed any thing that pleaseth the foolish eye which presently runnes with a lying tale of Excellence to the minde.
Eug. But I pray tell me my Lord could you tell me of a thing would make me dance say you?
Mom. Well, farewell sweet Neece, I must needs take my leave in earnest.
Eu. Lord blesse us, heres such a stir with your farewels.
Mom. I will see you againe within these two or three dayes a my word Neece.
Eug. Cods pretious, two or three dayes? why this Lord is in a maruallous strange humor. Sit downe, sweet Vnkle; yfaith I have to talke with you about greate matters.
Mom. Say then deere Neece, be short utter your minde quickly now.
Eug. But I pray tell me first, what's that would make me daunce yfaith?
Mom. Daunce, what daunce? hetherto your dauncers legges bow for-sooth, and Caper, and jerke, and Firke, and dandle the body above them, as it were their great childe; though the speciall jerker be above this place I hope here lies that shud fetch a perfect woman over the Coles yfaith.
Eug. Nay good Vnkle say what's the thing you could tell me of?
Mom. No matter, no matter: But let me see a passing prosperous fore-head of an exceeding happy distance betwixt the eye browes; a cleere lightning eye; a temperate, and fresh bloud in both the cheekes: excellent markes, most excellent markes of good fortune.
Eug. Why, how now Vnkle did you never see me before?
Mom. Yes Neece; but the state of these things at this instant must be specially observed, and these outward signes being now in this cleere elevation, show your untroubled minde is in an excellent power, to preferre them to act forth then a little, deere Neece.
Eug. This is excellent.
Mom. The Crises here are excellent good; The proportion of the chin good; the little aptness of it to sticke out good; and the wart above it most exceeding good. Never trust me, if all things be not answerable to the prediction of a most Divine fortune towards her; now if she have the grace to apprehend it in the nicke; thers all.
Eug. Well my Lord, since you will not tell me your secret, ile keepe another from you; with whose discovery, you may much pleasure me, and whose concealement may hurt my estate. And if you be no kinder then to see me so indangered; ile be very patient of it, I assure you.
Mom. Nay then it must instantly foorth. This kinde conjuration even fires it out of me; and (to be short) gather all your judgment togeather, for here it comes. Neece, Clarence, Clarence, rather my soule then my friend Clarence, of too substantiall a worth, to have any figures cast about him (notwithstanding, no other woman with Empires could stirre his affections) is with your vertues most extreamely in love; and without your requitall dead. And with it Fame shall sound this golden disticke through the World of you both.
Non illo melior quisquam, nec amantior aequi Vir fuit, aut illa reverentior ulla Deorum[17].
Eug. Ay me poore Dame, O you amase me Vncle, Is this the wondrous fortune you presage? What man may miserable women trust?
Mom. O peace good Lady, I come not to ravish you to any thing. But now I see how you accept my motion: I perceive (how upon true triall) you esteeme me. Have I rid all this Circuite to levie the powers of your Iudgment, that I might not proove their strength too sodainly with so violent a charge; And do they fight it out in white bloud, and show me their hearts in the soft Christall of teares?
Eug. O uncle you have wounded your selfe in charging me that I should shun Iudgement as a monster, if it would not weepe; I place the poore felicity of this World in a woorthy friend, and to see him so unworthily revolted, I shed not the teares of my Brayne, but the teares of my soule. And if ever nature made teares th'effects of any worthy cause, I am sure I now shed them worthily.
Mom. Her sensuall powers are up yfaith, I have thrust her soule quite from her Tribunall. This is her Sedes vacans when her subjects are priviledged to libell against her, and her friends. But weeps my kinde Neece for the wounds of my friendship? And I toucht in friendship for wishing my friend doubled in her singular happinesse?
Eug. How am I doubl'd? when my honour, and good name, two essentiall parts of me; would bee lesse, and loste?
Mom. In whose Iudgment?
Eug. In the judgment of the World.
Mom. Which is a fooles boult. Nihil a virtute nec a veritate remotius, quàm vulgaris opinio: But my deare Neece, it is most true that your honour, and good name tendred, as they are the species of truth, are worthily two esentiall parts of you; But as they consist only in ayrie titles, and corrupteble bloud (whose bitternes sanitas & non nobilitas efficit) and care not how many base, and execrable acts they commit, they touch you no more then they touch eternity. And yet shall no nobility you have in eyther, be impaired neither.
Eug. Not to marry a poore Gentleman?
Mom. Respect him not so; for as he is a Gentleman he is noble; as he is wealthily furnished with true knowledge, he is rich, and therein adorn'd with the exactest complements belonging to everlasting noblenesse.
Eug. Which yet will not maintaine him a weeke: Such kinde of noblenesse gives no cotes of honour nor can scarse gette a cote for necessity.
Mom. Then is it not substantiall knowledge (as it is in him) but verball, and fantasticall for Omnia in illa ille complexu tenet.
Eug. Why seekes he me then?
Mom. To make you joynt partners with him in all things, and there is but a little partiall difference betwixt you, that hinders that universall joynture: The bignesse of this circle held too neere our eye keepes it from the whole Spheare of the Sun; but could we sustaine it indifferently betwixt us, and it would then without checke of one beame appeare in his fulnes.
Eug. Good Vnckle be content, for now shall I never dreame of contentment.
Mom. I have more then done Lady, and had rather have suffer'd an alteration of my being, then of your Judgment; but (deere Neece) for your own honours sake repaire it instantly.
Enter Hippolyta. Penelope. Iacke. Will.
See heere comes the Ladies; make an Aprill day on't[18], deare love, and bee sodainly cheerefull. God save you, more then faire Ladies, I am glad your come, for my busines will have me gone presently.
Hip. Why my Lord Momford I say? will you goe before Dinner?
Mom. No remedy, sweet Beauties, for which rudnesse I lay my hands thus low for your pardons.
Pen. O Courteous Lo. Momford![19]
Mom. Neece?——Mens est quae sola quietos, Sola facit claros, mentemque honoribus ornat.[20]
Eug. Verus honos juvat, at mendax infamia terret.[21]
Mom. Mine owne deare nephew?
Cla. What successe my Lord?
Mom. Excellent; excellent; come Ile tell thee all.—Exeunt.
Hip. Doe you heare Madam, how our youthes here have guld our three suiters?
Eug. Not I, Lady; I hope our suiters are no fit meat for our Pages.
Pe. No Madam, but they are fit sawce for any mans meat, Ile warrent them.
Eug. What's the matter Hippolyta?
Hip. They have sent the Knights to Barnet, Madam, this frosty morning to meet us there.
Eug. I'st true, youths? are Knights fit subjects for your knaveries?
Will. Pray pardon us, Madam, we would be glad to please anie body.
Ia. I indeed, Madam, and we were sure we pleased them highly, to tell them you were desirous of their company.
Hip. O t'was good, Eugenia, their livers were too hot, you know, and for temper sake they must needs have a cooling carde[22] plaid upon them.
Wil. And besides Madam we wood have them know that your two little Pages, which are lesse by halfe then two leaves, have more learning in them then is in all their three volumnes.
Ia. I yfaith Will, and put their great pagicall index to them, too.
Hip. But how will ye excuse your abuses, wags?
Wil. We doubt not, Madam, but if it please your Ladiship to put up their abuses.
Ia. Trusting they are not so deere to you, but you may.
Wil. We shall make them gladly furnishe their pockets with them.
Hip. Well, children and foules, agree as you will, and let the World know now, women have nothing to doe with you.
Pe. Come, Madam, I thinke your Dinner bee almost ready.
Enter Tales, Kingcob.
Hip. And see, here are two honourable guests for you, the Lord Tales, and sir Cutberd Kingcob.
Ta. Lacke you any guests, Madam?
Eu. I, my Lord, such guests as you.
Hip. Theres as common an answere, as yours was a question, my Lord.
King. Why? all things shood be common betwixt Lords, and Ladies, you know.
Pe. Indeed sir Cutberd Kingcob, I have heard, you are either of the familie of Love[23], or of no religion at all.
Eug. He may well be said to be of the family of love, he does so flow in the loves of poore over-throwne Ladies.
King. You speake of that I wood doe, Madam, but in earnest, I am now suing for a new Mistres; looke in my hand sweet Lady, and tell me what fortune I shall have with her.
Eug. Doe you thinke me a witch, Sir Cutberd?
King. Pardon me Madam, but I know you to bee learned in all things.
Eug. Come on, lets see.
Hip. He does you a speciall favour Lady, to give you his open hand, for tis commonly shut they say.
King. What find you in it, Madam?
Eug. Shut it now, and ile tell yee.
King. What now Lady?
Eug. Y'ave the worst hand that ever I saw Knight have; when tis open, one can find nothing in it, and when tis shut one can get nothing out ont.
King. The age of letting goe is past, Madam; we must not now let goe, but strike up mens heeles, and take am as they fall.
Eug. A good Cornish principle beleeve it sir Cutberd.
Tales. But I pray tell me, Lady Penelope, how entertaine you the love of my Cosen sir Gyles Goosecappe.
Pene. Are the Goosecaps a kin to you, my Lord?
Ta. Even in the first degree, Madam. And, Sir Gyles, I can tell ye, tho he seeme something simple, is compos'd of as many good parts as any Knight in England.
Hip. He shood be put up for concealement then, for he shewes none of them.
Pen. Are you able to reckon his good parts, my Lord?
Ta. Ile doe the best I can, Lady; first, he danses as comely, and lightly as any man, for upon my honour, I have seene him danse upon Egges, and a has not broken them.
Pene. Nor crackt them neyther.
Ta. That I know not; indeed I wood be loath to lie though he be my kinsman, to speake more then I know by him.
Eug. Well, forth my Lord.
Ta. He has an excellent skill in all manner of perfumes, & if you bring him gloves from forty pence, to forty shillings a paire, he will tell you the price of them to two pence.
Hip. A pretty sweet quality beleeve me.
Tales. Nay Lady he will perfume you gloves himselfe most delicately, and give them the right Spanish Titillation.
Pene. Titillation what's that my Lord?
Tal. Why, Lady, tis a pretty kinde of terme new come up in perfuming, which they call a Titillation.
Hip. Very well expounded, my Lord; forth with your kinsmans parts I pray.
Tal. He is the best Sempster of any woman in England, and will worke you needle-worke-edgings, and French purles, from an Angell to foure Angells a yarde.
Eug. That's pretious ware indeed.
Tal. He will worke you any flower to the life, as like it as if it grew in the very place, and being a delicate perfumer, he will give it you his perfect, and naturall savour.
Hip. This is wonderfull; forth, sweet Lord Tales.
Tal. He will make you flyes, and wormes, of all sorts most lively, and is now working a whole bed embrodred, with nothing but glowe wormes; whose lights a has so perfectly done, that you may goe to bed in the Chamber, doe any thing in the Chamber, without a Candle.
Pene. Never trust me, if it be not incredible; forth my good Lord.
Tal. He is a most excellent Turner, and will turne you wassel-bowles, and posset Cuppes caru'd with libberds faces, and Lyons heads with spouts in their mouths, to let out the posset Ale, most artificially.
Eug. Forth, good Lord Tales.
Pene. Nay, good my Lord no more; you have spoken for him thoroughly I warrant you.
Hip. I lay my life Cupid has shot my sister in love with him out of your lips, my Lord.
Eug. Well, come in, my Lords, and take a bad Dinner with me now, and we will all goe with you at night to a better supper with the Lord and Lady Furnifall.
King. Tale. We attend you, honorable Ladies.
Exeunt.
Actvs Tertii.
SCAENA PRIMA.
Enter Rudesby, Goosecappe.
Rud. Bullaker.
Bul. I, Sir.
Rud. Ride, and catch the Captaines Horse.
Bul. So I doe Sir.
Rud. I wonder, Sir Gyles, you wood let him goe so, and not ride after him.
Goos. Wood I might never be mortall sir Cutt: if I rid not after him, till my horse sweat, so that he had nere a dry thread on him, and hollod, and hollod to him to stay him, till I had thought my fingers ends wood have gon off with hollowings; Ile be sworne to yee, & yet he ran his way like a Diogenes, and would never stay for us.
Rud. How shall wee doe to get the lame Captaine to London, now his horse is gone?
Goos. Why? he is but a lame jad neyther, Sir Moyle, we shall soone our'take him I warrent ye.
Rud. And yet thou saist thou gallopst after him as fast as thou coodst, and coodst not Catch him; I lay my life some Crabfish has bitten thee by the tongue, thou speakest so backward still.
Goos. But heres all the doubt, sir Cutt: if no body shoold catch him now, when he comes at London, some boy or other wood get uppe on him, and ride him hot into the water to wash him; Ile bee sworne I followed one that rid my Horse into the Thames, till I was up tooth knees hetherto; and if it had not beene for feare of going over shooes, because I am troubled with the rheume, I wood have taught him to wash my Horse when he was hot yfaith.
Enter Fowleweathter.
How now sweet Captaine, dost feele any ease in thy paine yet?
Rud. Ease in his paine quoth you, has good lucke if he feele ease in paine, I thinke, but wood any asse in the World ride downe such a Hill as High-gate is, in such a frost as this, and never light.
Foul. Cods precious, sir Cutt: your Frenchman never lights I tell ye.
Goos. Light, sir Cutt! Slight, and I had my horse againe, theres nere a paltry English frost an them all shood make me light.
Rud. Goe too, you French Zanies you, you will follow the French steps so long, till you be not able to set one sound steppe oth ground all the daies of your life.
Goos. Why, sir Cut: I care not if I be not sound, so I be well, but we were justly plagu'd by this Hill, for following women thus.
Foul. I, and English women too, sir Gyles.
Rud. Thou art still prating against English women, I have seene none of the French Dames, I confesse, but your greatest gallants, for men in France, were here lately,[24] I am sure, and me thinks there should be no more difference betwixt our Ladies, and theirs, then there is betwixt our Lords, and theirs, and our Lords are as farr byond them yfaith, for person, and Courtship, as they are beyond ours for phantasticality.
Foul. O Lord sir Cut. I am sure our Ladies hold our Lords tacke for Courtship, and yet the French Lords put them downe; you noted it, sir Gyles.
Goos. O God sir, I stud, and heard it, as I sat ith presence.
Rud. How did they put them downe, I pray thee?
Foul. Why for wit, and for Court-ship Sir Moile.
Rud.[25] As how, good left-handed Francois.
Foul. Why Sir when Monsieur Lambois came to your mistris the Lady Hippolyta as she sate in the presence,—sit downe here good Sir Gyles Goose-cappe,—he kneeld me by her thus Sir, and with a most queint French start in his speech of ah bellissime, I desire to die now, saies he, for your love that I might be buried here.
Rud. A good pickt-hatch[26] complement, by my faith; but I prethee what answer'd she.
Foul. She, I scorne to note that, I hope; then did he vie[27] it againe with an other hah.
Rud. That was hah, hah, I wood have put the third hah to it, if I had beene as my Mistris, and hah, hah, haht him out of the presence yfaith.
Foul. Hah, saies he, theis faire eyes, I wood not for a million they were in France, they wood renew all our civill-wars againe.
Goos. That was not so good, me thinkes, Captaine.
Rud. Well iudgd, yfaith; there was a little wit in that, I must confesse, but she put him downe far, and aunswered him with a question, and that was whether he wood seeme a lover, or a jester? if a lover, a must tell her far more lykelier then those, or else she was far from believing them; if a Jester, she cood have much more ridiculous jests then his of twenty fooles, that followed the Court; and told him she had as lieve be courted with a brush faggot as with a Frenchman, that spent it selfe all in sparkes, and would sooner fire ones chimney then warme the house, and that such sparkes were good enough yet to set thatcht dispositions a fire, but hers was tild with sleight, and respected them as sleightly.
Goos. Why so Captaine, and yet you talke of your great Frenchmen; [would] to God little England had never knowne them I may say.
Foul. What's the matter sir Gyles? are you out of love with Frenchmen now of a sodaine?
Goos. Slydd Captaine, wood not make one, Ile be sworne? Ile be sworne, they tooke away a mastie Dogge of mine by commission: now I thinke on't, makes my teares stand in my eyes with griefe, I had rather lost the dearest friend that ever I lay withall in my life be this light; never stir if he fought not with great Sekerson[28] foure hours to one, foremost take up hindmost, and tooke so many loaves from him, that he sterud him presently: So at last the dog cood doe no more then a Beare cood doe, and the beare being heavie with hunger you know, fell upon the Dogge, broke his backe, and the Dogge never stird more.
Rud. Why thou saist the Frenchmen tooke him away.
Goos. Frenchmen, I, so they did too, but yet, and he had not bin kild, twood nere a greevd me.
Foul. O excellent unity of speech.
Enter Will, and Iacke at seuerall Doores.
Will. Save ye, Knights.
Ia. Save you, Captaine.
Foul. Pages, welcome my fine Pages.
Rud. Welcome, boyes.
Goos. Welcome, sweet Will, good Iacke.
Foul. But how chaunce you are so farre from London now pages? is it almost Dinner time?
Wil. Yes indeed Sir, but we left our fellowes to wait for once, and cood not chuse in pure love to your worships, but we must needs come, and meet you, before you mett our Ladies, to tell you a secret.
Omnes. A secret, what secret I pray thee?
Ia. If ever your worships say any thing, we are undone for ever.
Omnes. Not for a World beleeve it.
Will. Why then this it is; we over-heard our Ladies as they were talking in private say, they refus'de to meet you at Barnet this morning of purpose, because they wood try which of you were most patient.
Ia. And some said you, Sir Gyles, another you Sir [Cutt] and the third you Captaine.
Om. This was excellent.
Wil. Then did they sweare one another not to excuse themselves to you by any meanes, that they might try you the better; now if they shall see you say nothing in the World to them what may come of it, when Ladies begin to try their suters once, I hope your wisedomes can judge a little.
Foul. O ho, my little knave, let us alone now yfaith; wood I might be Casheird, if I say any thing.
Rud. Faith, and I can forbeare my Tongue as well as another, I hope.
Goos. Wood I might be degraded, if I speake a word, Ile tell them I care not for loosing my labour.
Foul. Come Knights shall wee not reward the Pages?
Rud. Yes I prethee doe, sir Gyles give the boyes something.
Goos. Never stirre, sir Cutt, if I have ever a groat about me but one three pence.
Foul. Well Knights ile lay out fors all; here, my fine Pages.
Wil. No in deed, ant please your worship.
Foul. O Pages, refuse a Gentlemans bounty?
Ia. Cry you mercy, Sir; thanke you sweet Captaine.
Foul. And what other newes is stirring, my fine villiacos.
Wil. Marry Sir, they are invited to a great supper to night to your Lords house, Captaine, the Lord Furnifall, and there will be your great cosen Sir Gyles Goosecappe, the Lorde Tales, and your Vnckle, Sir Cutt. Rudesby, Sir Cutbert Kingcob.
Foul. The Lord Tales, what countriman is he?
Ia. A kentish Lord, sir; his ancestors came forth off Canterbury.
Foul. Out of Canterbury.
Wil. Indeed, Sir, the best Tales in England are your Canterbury Tales, I assure ye.
Rud. The boy tels thee true Captaine.
Ia. He writes his name Sir, Tales, and he being the tenth sonne his Father had; his Father Christned him Decem Tales, and so his whole name is the Lord Decem Tales.
Goos. A my mortality the boy knowes more then I doe of our house.
Rud. But is the Ladie Furnifall (Captaine) still of the same drinking humor she was wont to be?
Foul. Still of the same, Knight, and is never in any sociable veine till she be typsie, for in her sobriety she is madd, and feares my good little old Lord out of all proportion.
Rud.[29] And therefore, as I heare, he will earnestly invite guests to his house, of purpose to make his wife dronke, and then dotes on her humour most prophanely.
Foul. Tis very true Knight; we will suppe with them to night; and you shall see her; and now I thinke ont, ile tell you a thing Knights, wherein perhaps you may exceedingly pleasure me.
Goos. What's that, good Captaine?
Foul. I am desirous to helpe my Lord to a good merry Foole, and if I cood helpe him to a good merry one, he might doe me very much credit I assure ye.
Rud. Sbloud thou speakest to us as if we cood serue thy turne.
Foul. O Fraunce, Sir Cutt. your Frenchman wood not have taken me so, for a world, but because Fooles come into your companies many times to make you merry.
Rud. As thou doest.
Goos. Nay good sir Cut. you know fooles doe come into your companies.
Rud. I and thou knowst it too, no man better.
Foul. Beare off with Choller Sir Gyles.
Wil. But wood you helpe your Lord to a good foole so faine, Sir?
Foul. I, my good page exceeding faine.
Ia. You meane a wench, do you not, Sir? a foolish wench?
Foul. Nay I wood have a man foole, for his Lord; Page.
Wil. Does his Lord: love a foole, so well I pray?
Foul. Assure thy selfe, page, my Lord loves a foole, as he loves himselfe.
Ia. Of what degree wood you have your Foole Sir? for you may have of all manner of degrees.
Foul. Faith, I wood have him a good Emphaticall Foole, one that wood make my Lord laugh well, and I carde not.
Wil. Laugh well (um): then we must know this, Sir, is your Lord costive of laughter, or laxative of laughter?
Foul. Nay he is a good merry little Lord, and indeed sometimes Laxative of Laughter.
Wil. Why then sir the lesse wit will serue his Lordships turne, marry if he had bin costive of laughter he must have had two or three drams of wit the more in his foole, for we must minister according to the quantity of his Lord[ship's] humor, you know, and if he shood have as much witt in his foole being laxative of laughter, as if he were costive of Laughter, why he might laugh himselfe into an Epilepsie, and fall down dead sodainly, as many have done with the extremity of that passion; and I know your Lord cares for nothing, but the health of a Foole.
Foul. Thart ith right, my notable good page.
Ia. Why, and for that health, sir, we will warrant his Lordship, that if he should have all Bacon[30] de sanitate tuenda read to him, it shood not please his Lordship so well as our Foole shall.
Foul. Remercy, my more then English pages.
Goos. A my word I have not seene pages have so much wit, that have never bin in France Captaine.
Foul. Tis true indeed Sir Gyles, well then my almost french Elixers will you helpe my Lord to a Foole so fit for him as you say.
Wil. As fit, Ile warrant you Captaine, as if he were made for him, and he shall come this night to supper, and foole where his Lord: sits at table.
Foul. Excellent fit, faile not now, my sweet pages.
Ia. Not for a world, sir, we will goe both and seeke him presently.
Foul. Doe so my good wagges.
Wil. Save you Knights.
Ia. Save you Captaine. Exeunt.
Foul. Farewell, my pretty knaves; come, Knights, shall we resolve to goe to this Supper?
Rud. What else?
Goos. And let's provide torches for our men to sit at dore withall, Captaine.
Foul. That we will, I warrent you, sir Giles.
Rud. Torches? why the Moone will shine, man.
Goos. The Moone, sir Cut: I scorne the Moone yfaith. Slydd, sometimes a man shall not get her to shine, and if he wood give her a couple of Capons, and one of them must be white too. God forgive me, I cud never abide her since yesterday, she seru'd me such a tricke tother night.
Rud. What tricke, sir Gyles?
Goos. Why sir Cut. cause the daies be mortall, and short now you know, and I love daie light well; I thought it went away faster than it needed, and run after it into Finsbury-fieldes ith calme evening to see the wind-Mils goe; and even as I was going over a Ditch the Moone by this light of purpose runnes me behind a Cloud, and lets me fall into the Ditch by Heaven.
Rud. That was ill done in her, indeed sir Gyles.
Goos. Ill done sir Cut? Slydd a man may beare, and beare, but, and she have noe more good manners, but to make every blacke slovenly Cloud a pearle in her eye I shall nere love English Moone againe, while I live, Ile be sworne to ye.
Foul. Come, Knights, to London: Horse, Horse, Horse.
Rud. In what a case he is with the poor English Moone, because the French Moones (their Torches) will be the lesse in fashion, and I warrent you the Captaine will remember it too: tho he say nothing, he seconds his resolute chase so, and follows him, Ile lay my life you shall see them the next cold night, shut the Mooneshine out of their Chambers, and make it lie without Doores all night. I discredit my wit with their company, now I thinke on't, plague a god on them; Ile fall a beating on them presently.
[Exit.