THE MISERIES OF ENFORCED MARRIAGE[329].
Enter SIR FRANCIS ILFORD, WENTLOE, and BARTLEY.
BAR. But Frank, Frank, now we are come to the house, what shall we make to be our business?
ILF. Tut, let us be impudent enough, and good enough.
WEN. We have no acquaintance here, but young Scarborow.
ILF. How no acquaintance? Angels guard me from thy company. I tell thee, Wentloe, thou art not worthy to wear gilt spurs[330], clean linen, nor good clothes.
WEN. Why, for God's sake?
ILF. By this hand, thou art not a man fit to table at an ordinary, keep knights company to bawdy-houses, nor beggar thy tailor.
WEN. Why, then, I am free from cheaters, clear from the pox, and escape curses.
ILF. Why, dost thou think there is any Christians in the world?
WEN. Ay, and Jews too, brokers, puritans, and sergeants.
ILF. Or dost thou mean to beg after charity, that goes in a cold suit already, that thou talkest thou hast no acquaintance here? I tell thee, Wentloe, thou canst not live on this side of the world, feed well, drink tobacco[331], and be honoured into the presence, but thou must be acquainted with all sorts of men; ay, and so far in too, till they desire to be more acquainted with thee.
BAR. True, and then you shall be accounted a gallant of good credit.
Enter CLOWN.
ILF. But stay, here is a scrape-trencher arrived:
How now, blue-bottle,[332] are you of the house?
CLOWN. I have heard of many black-jacks, sir, but never of a blue-bottle.
ILF. Well, sir, are you of the house?
CLOWN. No, sir, I am twenty yards without, and the house stands without me.
BAR. Prythee, tell's who owes[333] this building?
CLOWN. He that dwells in it, sir.
ILF. Who dwells in it, then?
CLOWN. He that owes it.
ILF. What's his name?
CLOWN. I was none of his god-father.
ILF. Does Master Scarborow lie here?
CLOWN. I'll give you a rhyme for that, sir—
Sick men may lie, and dead men in their graves.
Few else do lie abed at noon, but drunkards, punks, and knaves.
ILF. What am I the better for thy answer?
CLOWN. What am I the better for thy question?
ILF. Why, nothing.
CLOWN. Why, then, of nothing comes nothing.
Enter SCARBOROW.
WEN. 'Sblood, this is a philosophical fool.
CLOWN. Then I, that am a fool by art, am better than you, that are fools by nature. [Exit.
SCAR. Gentlemen, welcome to Yorkshire.
ILF. And well-encountered, my little villain of fifteen hundred a year. 'Sfoot, what makest thou here in this barren soil of the North, when thy honest friends miss thee at London?
SCAR. Faith, gallants, 'tis the country where my father lived, where first I saw the light, and where I am loved.
ILF. Loved! ay, as courtiers love usurers, and that is just as long as they lend them money. Now, dare I lay—
WEN. None of your land, good knight, for that is laid to mortgage already.
ILF. I dare lay with any man, that will take me up.
WEN. Who list to have a lubberly load. [Sings this.[334]
ILF. Sirrah wag, this rogue was son and heir to Antony Now-now[335] and Blind Moon. And he must needs be a scurvy musician, that hath two fiddlers to his fathers: but tell me, in faith, art thou not—nay, I know thou art, called down into the country here by some hoary knight or other who, knowing thee a young gentleman of good parts and a great living, hath desired thee to see some pitiful piece of his workmanship —a daughter, I mean. Is't not so?
SCAR. About some such preferment I came down.
ILF. Preferment's a good word. And when do you commence into the cuckold's order—the preferment you speak of? when shall we have gloves;[336] when, when?
SCAR. Faith, gallants, I have been guest here but since last night.
ILF. Why, and that is time enough to make up a dozen marriages, as marriages are made up nowadays. For look you, sir; the father, according to the fashion, being sure you have a good living, and without encumbrance, comes to you thus:—takes you by the hand thus:—wipes his long beard thus:—or turns up his moustachio thus:—walks some turn or two thus:—to show his comely gravity thus:—and having washed his foul mouth thus: at last breaks out thus.——
WEN. O God! let us hear no more of this?
ILF.——Master Scarborow, you are a young gentleman; I knew your father well, he was my worshipful good neighbour, for our demesnes lay near together. Then, sir, you and I must be of more near acquaintance, at which you must make an eruption thus:—O God (sweet sir)—
BAR. 'Sfoot, the knight would have made an excellent Zany in an Italian comedy.
ILF. When he goes forward thus: Sir, myself am lord of some thousand a year, a widower (Master Scarborow). I have a couple of young gentlewomen to my daughters: a thousand a year will do well divided among them; ha, will't not, Master Scarborow? At which you out of your education must reply thus: The portion will deserve them worthy husbands: on which tinder he soon takes fire, and swears you are the man his hopes shot at, and one of them shall be yours.
WEN. If I did not like her, should he swear himself[337] to the devil, I would make him foresworn.
ILF. Then putting you and the young pug[338] too in a close room together——
WEN. If he should lie with her there, is not the father partly the bawd?
ILF.——Where the young puppet, having the lesson before from the old fox, gives the son half a dozen warm kisses which, after her father's oaths, takes such impression in thee, thou straight call'st, By Jesu, mistress, I love you!—when she has the wit to ask, But, sir, will you marry me? and thou, in thy cock-sparrow humour, repliest, Ay, before God, as I am a gentleman, will I; which the father overhearing, leaps in, takes you at your word, swears he is glad to see this; nay, he will have you contracted straight, and for a need makes the priest of himself. Thus in one hour, from a quiet life, Thou art sworn in debt, and troubled with a wife.
BAR. But can they love one another so soon?
ILF. O, it is no matter nowadays for love; 'tis well, and they can but make shift to lie together.
WEN. But will your father do this too, if he know the gallant breathes himself at some two or three bawdy-houses in a morning?
ILF. O, the sooner; for that and the land together tell the old lad, he will know the better how to deal with his daughter. The wise and ancient fathers know this rule, Should both wed maids, the child would be a fool. Come, wag, if thou hast gone no further than into the ordinary fashion— meet, see, and kiss—give over; marry not a wife, to have a hundred plagues for one pleasure: let's to London, there's variety: and change of pasture makes fat calves.
SCAR. But change of women bald knaves, sir knight.
ILF. Wag, and thou beest a lover but three days, thou wilt be heartless, sleepless, witless, mad, wretched, miserable, and indeed a stark fool; and by that thou hast been married but three weeks, though thou shouldst wed a Cynthia rara avis, thou wouldst be a man monstrous—a cuckold, a cuckold.
BAR. And why is a cuckold monstrous, knight?
ILF. Why, because a man is made a beast by being married. Take but example thyself from the moon: as soon as she is delivered of her great belly, doth she not point at the world with a pair of horns, as who would say: Married men, ye are cuckolds.
SCAR. I construe more divinely of their sex:
Being maids, methinks they are angels; and being wives,
They are sovereign cordials that preserve our lives,[339]
They are like our hands that feed us; this is clear,
They renew man, as spring renews the year.
ILF. There's ne'er a wanton wench that hears thee, but thinks thee a coxcomb for saying so: marry none of them; if thou wilt have their true characters, I'll give it thee. Women are the purgatory of men's purses, the paradise of their bodies, and the hell of their minds; marry none of them. Women[340] are in churches saints, abroad angels, at home devils. Here are married men enough know this: marry none of them.
SCAR. Men that traduce by custom, show sharp wit
Only in speaking ill; and practice it
Against the best creatures, divine women,
Who are God's agents' here, and the heavenly eye,
By which this orb hath her maturity:
Beauty in women gets the world with child,
Without whom she were barren, faint and wild.
They are the stems on which do angels grow,
From whence virtue is still'd, and arts do flow.
Enter SIR JOHN HARCOP and his daughter CLARE.
ILF. Let them be what flowers they will; and they were roses, I will pluck none of them for pricking my fingers. But soft, here comes a voider for us: and I see, do what I can, as long as the world lasts, there will be cuckolds in it. Do you hear, child, here's one come to blend you together: he has brought you a kneading-tub, if thou dost take her at his hands. Though thou hadst Argus' eyes, be sure of this, Women have sworn with more than one to kiss.
HAR. Nay, no parting, gentlemen. Hem!
WEN. 'Sfoot, does he make punks of us, that he hems already?
HAR. Gallants,
Know old John Harcop keeps a wine-cellar,
Has travell'd, been at court, known fashions,
And unto all bear habit like yourselves—
The shapes of gentlemen and men of sort,
I have a health to give them, ere they part.
WEN. Health, knight! not as drunkards give their healths, I hope: to go together by the ears when they have done?
HAR. My healths are Welcome: Welcome, gentlemen.
ILF. Are we welcome, knight, in faith?
HAR. Welcome, in faith, sir.
ILF. Prythee, tell me, hast not thou been a whoremaster?
HAR. In youth I swill'd my fill at Venus' cup,
Instead of full draughts now I am fain to sup.
ILF. Why then thou art a man fit for my company:
Dost thou hear? (to WEN. and BAR.) he is a good fellow of our stamp.
Make much of this[341] father.
[Exeunt.
Manent SCARBOROW and CLARE.
SCAR. The father and the gallants have left me here with a gentlewoman, and if I know what to say to her, I am a villain. Heaven grant her life hath borrowed so much impudence of her sex but to speak to me first: for, by this hand, I have not so much steel of immodesty in my face to parley to a wench without blushing. I'll walk by her, in hope she can open her teeth. Not a word? Is it not strange a man should be in a woman's company all this while and not hear her tongue. I'll go further. God of his goodness! not a syllable. I think if I should take up her clothes too, she would say nothing to me. With what words, trow, does a man begin to woo. Gentlewoman, pray you, what is't a clock?
CLARE. Troth, sir, carrying no watch about me but mine eyes, I answer you: I cannot tell.
SCAR. And if you cannot tell, beauty, I take the adage for my reply: you are naught to keep sheep.
CLARE. Yet I am big enough to keep myself.
SCAR. Prythee tell me: are you not a woman?
CLARE. I know not that neither, till I am better acquainted with a man.
SCAR. And how would you be acquainted with a man?
CLARE. To distinguish betwixt himself and myself.
SCAR. Why, I am a man?
CLARE. That's more than I know, sir.
SCAR. To approve I am no less, thus I kiss thee.
CLARE. And by that proof I am a man too; for I have kissed you.
SCAR. Prythee, tell me, can you love?
CLARE. O Lord, sir, three or four things: I love my meat, choice of suitors, clothes in the fashion, and, like a right woman, I love to have my will.
SCAR. What think you of me for a husband?
CLARE. Let me first know what you think of me for a wife?
SCAR. Troth, I think you are a proper gentlewoman.
CLARE. Do you but think so?
SCAR. Nay, I see you are a very perfect proper gentlewoman.
CLARE. It is great pity then I should be alone without a proper man.
SCAR. Your father says I shall marry you.
CLARE. And I say, God forbid, sir! alas, I am a great deal too young.
SCAR. I love thee, by my troth.
CLARE. O, pray you do not so; for then you stray from the steps of gentility; the fashion among them is to marry first, and love after by leisure.
SCAR. That I do love thee, here by heaven I swear, And call it as a witness to this kiss.
CLARE. You will not enforce me, I hope, sir?
SCAR. Make me this woman's husband! thou art my Clare:
Accept my heart, and prove as chaste as fair.
CLARE. O God! you are too hot in your gifts; should I accept them, we should have you plead nonage some half a year hence, sue for reversement, and say the deed was done under age.
SCAR. Prythee, do not jest.
CLARE. No (God is my record), I speak in earnest: and desire to know
Whether ye mean to marry me, yea or no?
SCAR. This hand thus takes thee as my loving wife.
CLARE. For better, for worse.
SCAR. Ay, till death us depart,[342] love.
CLARE. Why, then, I thank you, sir, and now I am like to have
That I long look'd for—a husband.
How soon from our own tongues is the word said
Captives our maiden-freedom to a head!
SCAR. Clare, you are now mine, and I must let you know,
What every wife doth to her husband owe:
To be a wife, is to be dedicate,
Not to a youthful course, wild and unsteady,
But to the soul of virtue, obedience,
Studying to please, and never to offend.
Wives have two eyes created, not like birds
To roam about at pleasure, but for[343] sentinels,
To watch their husbands' safety as their own.
Two hands; one's to feed him, the other herself:
Two feet, and one of them is their husbands'.
They have two of everything, only of one,
Their chastity, that should be his alone.
Their very thoughts they cannot term their own.[344]
Maids, being once made wives, can nothing call
Rightly their own; they are their husbands' all:
If such a wife you can prepare to be,
Clare, I am yours: and you are fit for me.
CLARE. We being thus subdued, pray you know then,
As women owe a duty, so do men.
Men must be like the branch and bark to trees,
Which doth defend them from tempestuous rage,
Clothe them in winter, tender them in age:
Or as ewes love unto their eanlings gives,[345]
Such should be husbands' custom to their wives.
If it appear to them they've stray'd amiss,
They only must rebuke them with a kiss;
Or clock them, as hens chickens, with kind call,
Cover them under wing, and pardon all:
No jars must make two beds, no strife divide them,
Those betwixt whom a faith and troth is given,
Death only parts, since they are knit by heaven:
If such a husband you intend to be,
I am your Clare, and you are fit for me.
SCAR. By heaven—
CLARE. Advise, before you swear, let me remember you,[346]
Men never give their faith and promise marriage,
But heaven records their oath: if they prove true,
Heaven smiles for joy; if not, it weeps for you:
Unless your heart, then, with your words agree,
Yet let us part, and let us both be free.
SCAR. If ever man, in swearing love, swore true,
My words are like to his. Here comes your father.
_Enter SIR JOHN HARCOP, ILFORD, WENTLOE, BARTLEY, and Butler.
HAR. Now, Master Scarborrow.
SCAR. Prepar'd to ask, how you like that we have done:
Your daughter's made my wife, and I your son.
HAR. And both agreed so?
BOTH. We are, sir.
HAR. Then long may you live together, have store of sons!
ILF. 'Tis no matter who is the father. [Aside.]
HAR. But, son, here is a man of yours is come from London.
BUT. And brought you letters, sir.
SCAR. What news from London, butler?
BUT. The old news, sir. The ordinaries are full of cheaters, some citizens are bankrupts, and many gentlemen beggars.
SCAR. Clare, here is an unwelcome pursuivant;
My lord and guardian writes to me, with speed
I must return to London.
HAR. And you being ward to him, son Scarborow,
And no ingrate,[347] it fits that you obey him.
SCAR.[348] It does, it does; for by an ancient law
We are born free heirs, but kept like slaves in awe.
Who are for London, gallants?
ILF. Switch and Spur, we will bear you company.
SCAR. Clare, I must leave thee—with what unwillingness,
Witness this dwelling kiss upon thy lip;
And though I must be absent from thine eye,
Be sure my heart doth in thy bosom lie.
Three years I am yet a ward, which time I'll pass,
Making thy faith my constant looking-glass,
Till when—
CLARE. Till when you please, where'er you live or lie,
Your love's here worn: you're present[349] in my eye.
Enter LORD FALCONBRIDGE and SIR WILLIAM SCARBOROW.
LORD. Sir William,
How old, say you, is your kinsman Scarborow?
WIL. Eighteen, my lord, next Pentecost.
LORD. Bethink you, good Sir William,
I reckon thereabout myself; so by that account
There's full three winters yet he must attend
Under our awe, before he sue his livery:
Is it not so?
WIL. Not a day less, my lord.
LORD. Sir William, you are his uncle, and I must speak,
That am his guardian; would I had a son
Might merit commendations equal[350] with him.
I'll tell you what he is: he is a youth,
A noble branch, increasing blessed fruit,
Where caterpillar vice dare not to touch:
He bears[351] himself with so much gravity,
Praise cannot praise him with hyperbole:
He is one, whom older look upon as on a book:
Wherein are printed noble sentences
For them to rule their lives by. Indeed he is one,
All emulate his virtues, hate him none.
WIL. His friends are proud to hear this good of him.
LORD. And yet, Sir William, being as he is,
Young and unsettled, though of virtuous thoughts
By genuine disposition, yet our eyes
See daily precedents, [how] hopeful gentlemen,
Being trusted in the world with their own will,
Divert the good is look'd from them to ill;
Make their old names forgot, or not worth note:
With company they keep such revelling,
With panders, parasites, prodigies of knaves,
That they sell all, even their old fathers' graves.
Which to prevent we'll match him to a wife:
Marriage restrains the scope of single life.
WIL. My lord speaks like a father for my kinsman.
LORD. And I have found him one of noble parentage,
A niece of mine; nay, I have broke with her,
Know thus much of her mind, that[352] for my pleasure,
As also for the good appears in him,
She is pleased of all that's hers to make him king.
WIL. Our name is bless'd in such an honoured marriage.
Enter DOCTOR BAXTER.
LORD. Also I have appointed Doctor Baxter,
Chancellor of Oxford, to attend me here:
And see, he is come. Good Master Doctor.
BAX. My honourable lord.
WIL. I have possess'd you[353] with this business, Master Doctor.
BAX. To see the contract 'twixt your honoured niece
And Master Scarborow?
LORD. 'Tis so, and I did look for him by this.
BAX. I saw him leave his horse, as I came up.
LORD. So, so.
Then he will be here forthwith: you, Master Baxter,
Go usher hither straight young Katherine,
Sir William here and I will keep this room,
Till you return.
[Exit DOCTOR.
Enter SCARBOROW.
SCAR. My honourable[354] lord.
LORD. 'Tis well-done, Scarborow.
SCAR. Kind uncle.
WIL. Thanks, my good coz.
LORD. You have been welcome in your country Yorkshire?
SCAR. The time that I spent there, my lord, was merry.
LORD. 'Twas well, 'twas very well! and in your absence
Your uncle here and I have been bethinking,
What gift 'twixt us we might bestow on you,
That to your house large dignity might bring,
With fair increase, as from a crystal spring.
Enter DOCTOR and KATHERINE.
SCAR. My name is bound to your benificence,
Your hands have been to me like bounty's purse,
Never shut up, yourself my foster nurse:
Nothing can from your honour come, prove me so rude,
But I'll accept, to shun ingratitude.
LORD. We accept thy promise, now return thee this,
A virtuous wife: accept her with a kiss.
SCAR. My honourable lord!
LORD. Fear not to take her, man: she will fear neither,
Do what thou canst, being both abed together.
SCAR. O, but my lord—
LORD. But me? dog of wax! come kiss, and agree,
Your friends have thought it fit, and it must be.
SCAR. I have no hands to take her to my wife.
LORD. How, sauce-box?
SCAR. O, pardon me, my lord; the unripeness of my years,
Too green for government, is old in fears
To undertake that charge.
LORD. Sir, sir, and sir knave, then here is a mellowed experience knows how to teach you.
SCAR. O God.
LORD. O Jack,
Have[355] both our cares, your uncle and myself,
Sought, studied, found out, and for your good,
A maid, a niece of mine, both fair and chaste;
And must we stand at your discretion?
SCAR. O good my lord,
Had I two souls, then might I have two wives:
Had I two faiths, then had I one for her;
Having of both but one, that one is given
To Sir John Harcop's daughter.
LORD. Ha, ha! what's that? let me hear that again.
SCAR. To Sir John Harcop's Clare I have made an oath:
Part me in twain, yet she's one-half of both.
This hand the which I wear, it is half hers:
Such power hath faith and troth 'twixt couples young,
Death only cuts that knot tied with the tongue.
LORD. And have you knit that knot, sir?
SCAR. I have done so much that, if I wed not her,
My marriage makes me an adulterer:
In which black sheets I wallow all my life,
My babes being bastards, and a whore my wife.
Enter SECRETARY.
LORD. Ha, is't even so? my secretary there,
Write me a letter straight to Sir John Harcop,
I'll see, sir Jack, and if that Harcop dare,
Being my ward, contract you to his daughter.
[Exit SECRETARY.
Enter STEWARD.
My steward too, post you to Yorkshire,
Where lies my youngster's land; and, sirrah,
Fell me his wood, make havoc, spoil and waste. [Exit STEWARD.
Sir, you shall know that you are ward to me,
I'll make you poor enough: then mend yourself.
WIL. O cousin!
SCAR. O uncle!
LORD. Contract yourself, and where you list?
I'll make you know me, sir, to be your guard.
SCAR. World, now thou seest what 'tis to be a ward.
LORD. And where I meant myself to have disburs'd
Four thousand pounds, upon this marriage
Surrendered up your land to your own use,
And compass'd other portions to your hands,
Sir, I'll now yoke you still.
SCAR. A yoke indeed.
LORD. And, spite of them[356] dare contradict my will, I'll make thee marry to my chambermaid. Come, coz. [Exit.
BAX. Faith, sir, it fits you to be more advis'd.
SCAR, Do not you flatter for preferment, sir?
WIL. O, but, good coz!
SCAR. O, but, good uncle, could I command my love,
Or cancel oaths out of heaven's brazen book,
Engross'd by God's own finger, then you might speak.
Had men that law to love, as most have tongues
To love a thousand women with, then you might speak.
Were love like dust, lawful for every wind
To bear from place to place; were oaths but puffs,
Men might forswear themselves; but I do know,
Though, sin being pass'd with us, the act's forgot,
The poor soul groans, and she forgets it not.
WIL. Yet hear your own case.
SCAR. O, 'tis too miserable!
That I, a gentleman, should be thus torn
From mine own right, and forc'd to be forsworn.
WIL. Yet, being as it is, it must be your care,
To salve it with advice, not with despair;
You are his ward: being so, the law intends
He is to have your duty, and in his rule
Is both your marriage and your heritage.
If you rebel 'gainst these injunctions,
The penalty takes hold on you; which for himself
He straight thus prosecutes; he wastes your land,
Weds you where he thinks fit:[357] but if yourself
Have of some violent humour match'd yourself
Without his knowledge, then hath he power
To merce[358] your purse, and in a sum so great,
That shall for ever keep your fortunes weak,
Where otherwise, if you be rul'd by him,
Your house is rais'd by matching to his kin.
Enter FALCONBRIDGE.
LORD. Now, death of me, shall I be cross'd
By such a jack? he wed himself, and where he list:
Sirrah malapert, I'll hamper you,
You that will have your will, come, get you in:
I'll make thee shape thy thoughts to marry her,
Or wish thy birth had been thy murderer.
SCAR. Fate, pity me, because I am enforc'd:
For I have heard those matches have cost blood,
Where love is once begun, and then withstood.
[Exeunt.