ACT II., SCENE 1.
Enter Nevill, like a parson.
Nev. Thus for my friend's sake have I taken orders,
And with my reason and some hire beside
Won the known priest, that was to celebrate
This marriage, to let me assume his place;
And here's the character of his face and beard.
By this means, when my friend confronts the maid
At the church-door (where I appointed him
To meet him like myself; for this strange shape
He altogether is unwitting of),
If she (as one vice in that sex alone
Were a great virtue) to inconstancy past
Join impudency, and slight him to his face,
Showing a resolution to this match,
By this attempt it will be frustrate,
And so we have more time, though but 'till night,
To work, to speak with her, or use violence;
For both my blood and means are at his service.
The reason, too, I do this past his knowledge
Is, that his joy may be the more complete;
When being resolv'd she's married and gone,
I can resolve him otherwise. Thus I know
Good deeds show double that are timely done,
And joy that comes past expectation.
Enter Scudmore in tawny.
Yonder he comes, dead in his melancholy.
I'll question him, and see if I can raise
His spirit from that it restless rests upon:
He cannot know me. Ho! good morrow, sir.
Scud. Good morrow to no living thing but one,
And that is Nevill. O, the vows, the vows,
The protestations and becoming oaths,
Which she has utter'd to me!—so sweet, so many,—
As if she had been covetous not to leave
One word for other lovers, which I pitied:
She said indeed I did deserve 'em all.
Her lips made swearings sound of piety,
So sweet and prettily they came from her;
And yet this morn she's married to a lord.
Lord! lord! how often has she kiss'd this hand,
Lost herself in my eyes, play'd with my hair,
And made me (a sin I am not subject to)
Go away proud, improved by her favours;
And yet this morn she's married to a lord—
The bells were ringing as I came along.
Nev. Yes, sir; 'tis for the great marriage 'twixt——
Scud. Pray, hold there; I know it too-too well.
The tokens and the letters I have still.
The dangers I have pass'd for her dear sake
By day and night, to satisfy her wishes!
That letter I so lately did receive,
And yet this morn she's married to a lord!
O memory, thou blessing to all men,
Thou art my curse and cause of misery,
That tell'st me what I have been in her eyes,
And what I am! As it is impossible
To find one good in the whole world of women—
But how I lose myself and the remembrance
Of my dear friend who said he would meet me here.
What is this priest, that walks before the church?
Why walk you here so early, sir?
Nev. I am appointed
Here to attend the coming of the brides,
Old Sir John Worldly's daughters.
Scud. Are there two?
Nev. Yes, sir: the eldest marries Count Frederick.
Scud. O!
Nev. The middlemost wears willow for his sake;
The youngest marries the rich merchant Strange.
Scud. He is right worthy, and my well-known friend.
But, parson, if you marry Bellafront,
The horror of thy conscience shall exceed
A murderer's. Thou shalt not walk alone,
Nor eat nor sleep, but a sad lover's groans
And curses shall appear and fright thy soul.
I tell thee, priest, they're sights more terrible
Than ghosts or sprites, of which old wives tell tales.
Thou shalt run mad! thou shalt be damn'd indeed!
Nev. Now God forfend! the reason, sir, I pray?
Scud. She is contracted, sir—nay, married
Unto another man, though it want form:
And such strange passages and mutual vows,
'Twould make your short hair start through your black cap
Should you but hear it!
Nev. Sir, I'll take no notice
Of things I do not know: the injur'd gentleman
May bring 'em after into the spiritual court,
And have a fair pull on't—a poor gentleman
(For so I take him by his being deceiv'd)
'Gainst a great count and an old wealthy knight.
Scud. Thou Pancridge parson![26] O, for my friend Nevill!
Some wile or other might remove this priest,
And give us[27] breathing to cross their intent.
[Aside.
Nev. Alas! my dear friend.
[Aside.
Scud. Sir, do but you refuse to join them.
Nev. Upon what acquaintance, sir?
They are great persons, and I mean to rise:
I hope in time to have three livings, man;
And this were not the way, I take it, sir.
Scud. Why, look thee; there is gold.
Nev. O, by no means.
Scud. I seldom knew't refus'd yet by thy coat,
But where it would have been a cause of good.
Nev. But look ye; you shall see, I'm a divine
Of conscience quite opposite to a lawyer:
I'll give you counsel, sir, without a fee.
This way they are to come; if you dare do't,
Challenge her as your own at the church-door:
I will not hinder you.
[Music plays.
Scud. O, hark! they come.
Nevill, my friend! well, I must something do.
O, why should music, which joys every part,
Strike such sharp killing discords to my heart!
Music. Enter Sir John Worldly, who meets the parson, and entertains him; Count Frederick, Bellafront, Strange, Katherine, Lucida with willow; Pendant, Sir Innocent Ninny, Lady Ninny, Mrs Wagtail, Sir Abraham melancholy. W. P.[28] walk gravely afore all softly on. Scudmore stands before, and a boy sings to the tuned music.
The Song.
They that for worldly wealth do wed,
That buy and sell the marriage-bed,
That come not warm'd with the true fire,
Resolv'd to keep this vow entire,
Too soon find discontent:
Too soon shall they repent.
But, Hymen, these are no such lovers,
Which thy burning torch discovers.
Though they live, then, many a year,
Let each day as new appear
As this first; and delights
Make of all bridal nights.
Iö, Hymen! give consent
Bless'd are the marriages that ne'er repent.
C. Fred. How now! who's this?
Pen. Young Scudmore.
Omnes. 'Tis young Scudmore!
Scud. Canst thou this holy church enter a bride, And not a corse, meeting these eyes of mine?
Bel. Yes, by my troth: what are your eyes to me,
But grey ones, as they are to everybody.
[To the rest.] The gentleman I do a little know:
He's frantic, sure! Forward, a' God's name, there!
Luc. Sister, this is not well, and will be worse.
Scud. O, hold thy thunder fast!
C. Fred. What is the matter?
Pen. I'll ask, my lord. What is the matter, sir?
Sir J. Wor. Some idle words, my lord, 't may be, have pass'd
'Twixt Scudmore and my daughter heretofore;
But he has dreamt 'em things of consequence.
Pen. Pish! nothing else? set forward.
Nev. By your leave.
Scud. Can there be such a soul in such a shape?
My love is subject of such misery,
Such strange impossibilities and misfortune,
That men will laugh at me, when I relate
The story of it, and conceive I lie.
Why, madam that shall be—lady in posse—do titles,
Honours, and fortunes make you so forgetful?
Bel. You are insolent—nay, strangely saucy, sir,
To wrong me in this public fashion.
Sir. J. Wor. Sirrah, go to: there's law.
Scud. There is, indeed,
And conscience too: old Worldly, thou hast one;
But for the other, wild Virginia,
Black Afric, or the shaggy Scythia,
Must send it over as a merchandise,
Ere thou show any here.
Pen. My honour'd lord,
Say but the word, I'll force him from the door.
C. Fred. I say the word: do it.
Scud. You, my lord's fine fool!
Abra. Ay, he, sir?
Scud. No! nor you, my lord's fool's fool.
Sir Inn. 'Ware, boy: come back.
L. Nin. Come back, I say, Sir Abraham.
Strange. 'Tis such a forward child.
[Intrant Templum.[29]
Scud. My passion and my cause of griefs so great,
That it hath drown'd all worthy parts in me;
As drink makes virtue useless in a man,
And with too much kills natural heat in him,
Or else I could not stand thus coldly tame,
And see them enter, but with my drawn sword
Should hale her by the hair unto the altar.
And sacrifice her heart to wronged love.
[Aside.
Kath. On my life, it is so.[30]
Strange. Worthy friend,
I am exceeding sorry to see this,
But cannot help it.
Scud. I'll follow, and unfold all in the church.
Alas! to what end, since her mind is chang'd?
Had she been loyal, all the earthly lords
Could not have borne her so! what heinous sin
Hath she committed, God should leave her then?
I never dreamt of lying with my mother,
Nor wish'd my father's death, nor hated brothers;
Nor did betray trust, nor lov'd money better
Than an accepted friend—no such base thought
Nor act unnatural possess'd this breast.
Why am I thus rewarded?—women! women!
He's mad, by heaven, that thinks you anything
But sensual monsters, and is never wise
Nor good, but when he hates you, as I now.
I'll not come near one—none of your base sex
Shall know me from this time; for all your virtues
Are like the buzzes[31] growing in the fields,
So weakly fasten'd t' ye by nature's hand,
That thus much wind blows all away at once.
Ye fillers of the world with bastardy,
Worse than diseases ye are subject to,
Know, I do hate you all: will write against you,
And fight against you: I will eat no meat
Dress'd by a woman, old or young, nor sleep
Upon a bed made by their stallion[32] hands.
Yet once more I will see this feminine devil,
When I will look her dead, speak her to hell!
I'll watch my time this day to do't, and then
I'll be in love with death, and readier still
His mortal stroke to take, than he to kill.
[Cornets. Exit Scudmore.
Loud music. Enter, as from the church, Sir John Worldly, Nevill, like the parson; Count Frederick, Bellafront, Strange, Katherine; Sir Innocent Ninny, Lady Ninny, Sir Abraham; Lucida, Wagtail, Pendant.
C. Fred. Sweet is the love purchas'd with difficulty.
Bel. Then, this cross accident doth relish ours.
Strange. I rather think ours happier, my fair Kate,
Where all is smooth, and no rub checks our course.
Enter Captain Pouts.
Capt. Pouts. Are ye married?
C. Fred. Yes.
Capt. Pouts. The devil dance at your wedding! But for you, I have something else to say. Let me see: here are reasonable good store of people. Know, all my beloved brethren (I speak it in the face of the congregation), this woman I have lain with oftener——
Omnes. How!
L. Nin. Before God, you are a wicked fellow to speak on't in this manner, if you have.
Strange. Lain with her?
Capt. Pouts. Yes. Good morrow. God give ye joy.
[Exit CAPTAIN POUTS.
Sir J. Wor. I am speechless with my anger. Follow him!
If it be true, let her be prov'd a whore:
If false, he shall abide the slander dearly.
Abra. Follow that list: I will not meddle with him.
Sir J. Wor. Why speak'st not thou to reconcile those looks,
That fight stern battles in thy husband's face?
Kath. Thou art not so unworthy to believe him.
If I did think thou didst, I would not open
My lips to satisfy so base a thought,
Sprung from the slander of so base a slave.
Strange. It cannot be! I'll tell you by to-morrow.
I am no fool, Kate. I will find some time
To talk with this same captain. Pouts d'ye call him?
I'll be wi' ye to-night.
Kath. Sir, you shall not.
What stain my honour hath received by this
Base villain, all the world takes notice of.
Mark what I vow, and if I keep it not,
May I be so given o'er, to let this rogue
Perform his slander. Thou that wert ordained,
And in thy cradle mark'd to call me wife,
And in that title made as my defence,
Yet sufferedst him to go away with life,
Wounding my honour dead before thy face;
Redeem it on his head, and his own way,
Ev'n by the sword, his long profession,
And bring it on thy neck out of the field,
And set it clear amongst the tongues of men,
That all eyes may discern it slandered,
Or thou shalt ne'er enjoy me as a wife.
By this bright sun, thou shalt not! Nay, I'll think
As abjectly of thee as any mongrel
Bred in the city: such a citizen
As the plays flout still, and is made the subject
Of all the stages. Be this true or no,
'Tis thy best course to fight.
Sir J. Wor. Why, Kate, I say——
Kath. Pray, pardon me: none feels the smart but I.
'Tis thy best course to fight: if thou be'st still,
And like an honest tradesmen eat'st this wrong,
O, may thy spirit and thy state so fall,
Thy first-born child may come to the hospital.
Strange. Heaven, I desire thee, hear her last request,
And grant it too, if I do slack the first!
By thy assured innocency I swear,
Thou hast lost me half the honour I shall win
In speaking my intent. Come, let's to dinner.
Kath. I must not eat nor sleep, [but] weep,
Till it be done.
Bel. Sister, this resolution is not good:
Ill thrives that marriage that begins in blood.
Kath. Sister, inform yourself I have no ladyship
To gild my infamy, or keep tongues in awe.
If God love innocency, I am sure
He shall not lose in this action.
Strange. Nor is't the other's life
Can give her to the world my perfect wife,
But what I do conceive. It is not blood, then,
Which she requires, but her good name again;
And I will purchase it; for, by heaven, thou art
The excellent'st new-fashion'd maid in this,
That ever ear shall hear a tale told of.
Omnes. But hear ye.
Strange. Good [people], save your labours, for by heaven
I'll do it: if I do't not, I shall be pointed at,
Proclaim'd the grand rich cuckold of the town;
Nay, wittol, even by them are known for both.
Sir J. Wor. Take your revenge by law.
Strange. It will be thought
Your greatness and our money carries it:
For some say some men on the back of law
May ride and rule it like a patient ass,
And with a golden bridle in the mouth
Direct it unto anything they please.
Others report it is a spider's web,
Made to entangle the poor helpless flies,
Whilst the great spiders that did make it first,
And rule it, sit i' th' midst secure, and laugh.
My law in this shall only be my sword;
But, peradventure, not this month or two.
Kath. This month or two?
C. Fred. I'll be your second, then.
Strange. You proffer too much honour, my good lord.
Pen. And I will be your third.
Abra. I'll not be fourth or fifth,
For the old proverb's good, which long hath been,
Says safest 'tis sleeping in a whole skin.
Luc. God-a-mercy, Nab, I'll ha' thee, and be but for thy manhood.
Sir Inn. Wife, my Lady Ninny, do you hear your son? He speaks seldom, but when he speaks——
Luc. He speaks proverbs, i' faith.
L. Nin. O, 'tis a pestilence knight, Mistress Lucida.
Luc. Ay, and a pocky.
Kath. This month or two! D'ye love me? not before?
It may be I will live so long Fame's whore!
[Exit Katherine.
Sir J. Wor. What lowering star rul'd my nativity!
You'll come to dinner?
Strange. Yes.
C. Fred. Good morrow, brother.
Come, let's be merry in despite of all,
And make this day (as't should be) festival.
Sir J. Wor. This sour thwart beginning may portend
Good, and be crown'd with a delicious end.
[Exeunt all but Strange.
Strange. So; I'll not see you, till my task be done:
So much false time I set to my intent,
Which instantly I mean to execute,
To cut off all means of prevention,
Which if they knew my day, they would essay.
Now for the merchant's honour. Hit all right:
Kate, your young Strange will lie with you to-night.
[Exit.
Enter Wagtail; the Page, stealing after her, conceals himself.
Wag. What a stir is here made about lying with a gentlewoman! I have been lain with a hundred, and a hundred times, and nothing has come on't! but—hawk, hum! hawk, hum! O, O! Thus have I done for this month or two—hawk, hum!
[Coughs and spits.]
Page. Ah! God's will, are you at it? You have acted your name too much, sweet Mistress Wagtail. This was wittily, though somewhat knavishly followed on me.
Wag. Umph! O' my conscience, I am peppered. Well, thou tumblest not for nothing, for he dances as well that got thee, and plays as well on the viol, and yet he must not father thee. I have better men. Let me remember them, and here, in my melancholy, choose out one rich enough to reward this my stale virginity, or fit enough to marry my little honesty. Hawk, hawk!
[Coughs and spits.]
Page. She has a shrewd reach, I see that. What a casting she keeps. Marry, my comfort is, we shall hear by and by who has given her the casting-bottle.
Wag. Hawk, hawk, hawk! bitter, bitter! Pray God, I hurt not the babe. Well, let me see, I'll begin with knights: imprimis, Sir John Do't-well and Sir William Burn-it.
Page. A hot knight, by my faith; Do't-well and Burn-it too.
Wag. For old Sir Innocent Ninny, my master, if I speak my conscience, look ye, I cannot directly accuse him. Much has he been about, but done nothing. Marry, for Sir Abraham, I will not altogether 'quit him. Let me see, there's four knights: now for gentlemen——
Page. And so she'll come down to the footmen.
Wag. Master Love-all, Master Liveby't, and Master Pendant. Hawk, hi'up, hi'up!
Page. By this light, I have heard enough. Shall I hold your belly too, fair maid of the fashion?
[Comes forward.
Wag. What say ye, Jack Sauce?
Page. O fie, ill-mutton! you are too angry. Why, look ye; I am my lord's page, and you are my lady's gentlewoman: we should agree better; and I pray, whither are you riding with this burthen in your dosser.[33]
Wag. Why, sir, out of town. I hope 'tis not the first time you have seen a child carried out of town in a dosser for fear of the plague.
Page. You have answered me, I promise you: but who put it in, I pray?
Wag. Not you, sir, I know, by your asking.
Page. I, alas! I know that by my talent; for I remember thus much philosophy of my school-masters, ex nihilo nihil fit. But come, setting this duello of wit aside, I have overheard your confession and your casting about for a father, and in troth, in mere charity, came in to relieve you. In the scroll of beasts, horses and asses, that have fed upon this common of yours, you named one Pendant: faith, wench, let him be the father. He is a very handsome gentleman, I can tell you, in my lord's favour. I'll be both secret and your friend to my lord. Let it be him; he shall either reward thee bountifully, or marry thee.
Wag. Sir, you speak like an understanding young gentleman, and I acknowledge myself much bound to you for your counsel.
Pen. (Within). Will, Will!
Page. My lord hath sent him to call me. Now I hold a wager on't, if thou be'st not a fool, as most waiting-women are, thou'lt use him in his kind.
Enter Pendant.
Pen. Why, Will, I say! Go; my lord calls extremely.
Page. Did not I say so? Come, this is but a trick to send me off, sir.
[Exit PAGE.
Pen. A notable little rascal.
Pretty Mistress Wagtail, why d'ye walk so melancholy?
I sent him hence o' purpose. Come, shall's do?
Wag. Do! what would you do? You have done too much already.
Pen. What's the matter?
Wag. I am with child by you.
Pen. By me? Why, by me? A good jest, i' faith.
Wag. You'll find it, sir, in earnest.
Pen. Why, do you think I am such an ass to believe nobody has meddled with you but I?
Wag. Do you wrong me so much to think otherwise?
Thus 'tis for a poor damsel like myself
To yield her honour and her youth to any,
Who straight conceives she does so unto many:
And as I have a soul to save, 'tis true.
Pen. Pray, do not swear. I do not urge you to't. 'Swounds, now I am undone! You walk somewhat round. Sweetheart, has nobody been tampering with you else? Think on't, for by this light, I am not worth the estate of an apple-wife. I do live upon commending my lord, the Lord of Hosts knows it, and all the world besides. For me to marry thee will undo thee more,
And that thou may'st keep me, keep thee in fashion,
Sell thee to English, French, to Scot, and all,
Till I have brought thee to an hospital;
And there I leave you. Ha' you not heard nor read
Of some base slave that, wagging his fair head,
Does whistling at one end of his shop-walk,
Whilst some gay man doth vomit bawdy talk
In his wife's ears at the other? Such a rogue
Or worse shall I be; for look ye, Mistress Wagtail, I do live like a chameleon upon the air, and not like a mole upon the earth. Land I have none. I pray God send me a grave, when I am dead.
Wag. It's all one. I'll have you for your qualities.
Pen. For my good ones, they are altogether unknown, because they have not yet been seen, nor ever will be, for they have no being. In plain terms, as God help me, I have none.
Wag. How came you by your good clothes?
Pen. By undoing tailors; and then, my lord (like a snake) casts a suit every quarter, which I slip into: therefore thou art worse than mad if thou wilt cast away thyself upon me.
Wag. Why, what 'mends will you make me? can you give me some sum of money to marry me to some tradesman, as the play says?
Pen. No, by my troth. But tell me this, has not Sir Abraham been familiar with you?
Wag. Faith, not enough to make up a child.
Pen. Couldst be content to marry him?
Wag. Ay, by my troth, and thank ye, too.
Pen. Has he but kissed thee?
Wag. Yes; and something more beside that.
Pen. Nay, and there ha' been any jot of the thing, beside that, I'll warrant thee, lay the child to him—
Stand stifly to it, leave the rest to me;
By that fool thou shalt save thy honesty.
[Exeunt.