Scene II.
Enter Count Frederick, a tailor trussing him; attended by a page.
C. Fred. Is Sir John Worldly up, boy?
Boy. No, my Lord.
C. Fred. Is my bride up yet?
Boy. No.
C. Fred. No! and the morn so fair?
Enter Pendant.
Pen. Good morrow, my thrice honoured and heroic lord.
Boy. Good morrow, your lord and master, you
might say, for brevity sake.
[Aside.
C. Fred. Thou'st a good tailor, and art very fine.
Pen. I thank your lordship.
Boy. Ay, you may thank his lordship indeed.
[Aside.
Pen. 'Fore God, this doublet sets in print, my lord;
And the hose excellent; the pickadel[15] rare.
Boy. He'll praise himself in trust with my lord's tailor.
For the next St George's suit.
C. Fred. O, good morrow, tailor;
I abhor bills in a morning.
Pen. Your honour says true:
Their knavery will be discern'd by daylight;
But thou may'st watch at night with bill in hand,
And no man dares find fault with it.
Tailor. A good jest, i' faith. Good morrow to your lordship. A very good jest.
[Exit Tailor.
C. Fred. I wonder my invited guests are so tardy. What's o'clock?
Pen. Scarce seven, my lord.
C. Fred. And what news, Pendant?
What think'st thou of my present marriage?
How shows the beauty to thee I shall wed?
Pen. Why, to all women like Diana among her nymphs.
Boy. There's all his reading.
[Aside.
Pen. A beauty of that pureness and delight,
That none is worthy of her but my lord,
My honourable lord.
C. Fred. But then her fortune,
Match'd with her beauty, makes her up a match.
Pen. By heaven, unmatchable!—for none fit but lords,
And yet for no lord fit but my good lord.
C. Fred. And that her sister, then, should love me too,
Is it not strange?
Pen. Strange? no, not strange at all.
By Cupid, there's no woman in the world
But must needs love you, doat, go mad for you.
If you vouchsafe reflection, 'tis a thing
That does it home: thus much reflection
Catches 'em up by dozens like wild fowl.
Boy. Now, ye shall taste the means, by which he eats.
[Aside.
Pen. Nature herself, having made you, fell sick
In love with her own work, and can no more
Make man so lovely, being diseas'd with love.
You are the world's minion, of a little man.
I'll say no more: I would not be a woman
For all has been got by them.
C. Fred. Why, man, why?
Pen. Heart! I should follow you like a young rank whore,
That runs proud of her love; pluck you by the sleeve,
Whoe'er were with you, in the open street,
With the impudency of a drunken oyster-wife;
Put on my fighting waistcoat and the ruff,
That fears no tearing; batter down the windows,
Where I suspected you might lie all night;
Scratch faces, like a wild-cat of Pick'd-hatch.[16]
C. Fred. Pendant, thou'lt make me doat upon myself.
Pen. Narcissus, by this hand, had far less cause.
C. Fred. How know'st thou that?
Boy. They were all one, my lord.
Pen. How do I know? I speak my conscience:
His beauties were but shadows to my lord.
Why, boy, his presence would enkindle sin
And longing thoughts in a devoted nun.
O foot! O leg! O hand! O body! face!
By Jove, it is a little man of wax.
C. Fred. Thou'rt a rare rascal: 'tis not for nothing
That men call thee my Commendations.
Boy. For nothing? no; he would be loth it should.
Enter Captain Pouts.
C. Fred. Good morrow, and good welcome, Captain Pouts.
Capt. Pouts. Good morning to your honour, and all joy
Spring from this match, and the first year a boy!
I commanded[17] these two verses o' purpose to salute your honour.
C. Fred. But how haps it, Captain, that your intended marriage with my father-in-law's third daughter is not solemnised to-day?
Pen. My lord tells you true, Captain; it would have saved meat.
Capt. Pouts. Faith, I know not. Mistress Kate likes me not; she says I speak as if I had pudding in my mouth, and I answered her, if I had, it was a white pudding,[18] and then I was the better armed for a woman; for I had a case about me. So one laughed, and the other cried fie: the third said I was a bawdy captain; and there was all I could get of them.
C. Fred. See, boy, if they be up yet: maids are long liers, I perceive.
Boy. How if they will not admit me, my lord.
C. Fred. Why, should they not admit you, my lord, you cannot commit with 'em, my lord.
Boy. Marry, therefore, my lord.
[Exit Boy.
C. Fred. But what should be the reason of her so sudden alteration? she listened to thee once, ha?
Pen. Have you not heard, my lord, or do ye not know?
C. Fred. Not I, I swear.
Pen. Then you know nothing that is worth the knowing.
Capt. Pouts. That's certain: he knows you.
Pen. There's a young merchant, a late suitor, that deals by wholesale, and heir to land, well-descended, of worthy education, beholding to nature.
C. Fred. O, 'tis young Strange.
Capt. Pouts. Is't he that looks like an Italian tailor out of the lac'd wheel?[19] that wears a bucket on his head?
C. Fred. That is the man: yet believe me, captain, it is a noble sprightly citizen.
Capt. Pouts. Has he money?
C. Fred. Infinitely wealthy.
Capt. Pouts. Then, captain, thou art cast. Would I had gone to Cleveland! Worldly loves money better than I love his daughter. I'll to some company in garrison. Good bye.
C. Fred. Nay, ye shall dedicate this day to me.
We speak but by the way, man: ne'er despair;
I can assure you, she is yet as free as air.
Pen. And you may kill the merchant with a look:
I'd threaten him to death. My honor'd lord
Shall be your friend: go to, I say he shall:
You shall have his good word. Shall he, my lord?
C. Fred. 'Sfoot! he shall have my bond to do him good.
Pen. La! 'tis the worthiest lord in Christendom.
O captain, for some fourscore brave spirits, once
To follow such a lord in some attempt!
Capt. Pouts. A hundred, sir, were better.
Enter Old Sir Innocent Ninny, My Lady Ninny, Sir Abraham, and Mistress Wagtail.
C. Fred. Here's more guests.
Capt. Pouts. Is that man and wife?
Pen. It is Sir Innocent Ninny: that's his lady,
And that Sir Abraham, their only son.
[Count Frederick discoursing with Sir Innocent and Lady: Abraham looking about.
Capt. Pouts. But did that little old dried neat's tongue, that eel-skin, get him?
Pen. So 'tis said, captain.
Capt, Pouts. Methinks he in his lady should show like a needle in a bottle of hay.
Pen. One may see by her nose what pottage she loves.
Capt. Pouts. Is your name Abraham? Pray, who dwells in your mother's backside,[20] at the sign of the aqua-vitæ bottle?
Pen. God's precious! Save you, Mistress Wagtail
[Pulls her by the sleeve.
Wag. Sweet Master Pendant.
Abra. Gentlemen, I desire your better acquaintance. You must pardon my father; he's somewhat rude, and my mother grossly brought up, as you may perceive.
C. Fred. Young Master Abraham! cry ye mercy, sir.
Abra. Your lordship's poor friend, and Sir Abraham Ninny.
The dub-a-dub of honour, piping hot
Doth lie upon my worship's shoulder-blade.
Sir Inn. Indeed, my lord, with much cost and labour we have got him knighted; and being knighted under favour, my lord, let me tell ye he'll prove a sore knight, as e'er run at ring. He is the one and only Ninny of our house.
L. Nin. He has cost us something, ere he came to this.
Hold up your head, Sir Abraham.
Abra. Pish, pish, pish, pish!
C. Fred. D'ye hear how—
Pen. O my lord.
Capt. Pouts. I had well hoped she could not have spoke, she is so fat.
C. Fred. Long may'st thou wear thy knighthood; and thy spurs
Prick thee to honour on, and prick off curs.
Abra. Sir Abraham thanks your honour, and I hope your lordship will consider the simplicity of parents: a couple of old fools, my lord, and I pray so take 'em.
Omnes. Ha! ha! ha!
Abra. I must be fain to excuse you here: you'll be needs coming abroad with me. If I had no more wit than you now, we should be finely laughed at.
Sir Inn. By'r lady, his worship says well: wife, we'll trouble him no longer. With your honour's leave, I'll in and see my old friend Sir John, your father that shall be.
L. Nin. I'll in, too, and see if your bride need no dressing.
[Exeunt Sir Innocent and lady.[21]
C. Fred. 'Sfoot, as much as a tripe, I think:
Haste them, I pray. Captain, what thinkest thou
Of such a woman in a long sea voyage,
Where there were a dearth of victuals?
Capt. Pouts. Venison, my lord, venison.
Pen. I'faith, my lord, such venison as a bear is.
Capt. Pouts. Heart! she looks like a black bombard[22] with a pint pot waiting upon it.
[Exit Mrs Wagtail.
C. Fred. What countrymen were your ancestors, Sir Abraham?
Abra. Countrymen! they were no countrymen: I scorn it. They were gentlemen all: my father is a Ninny, and my mother was a Hammer.
Capt. Pouts. You should be a knocker, then, by the mother's side.
Abra. I pray, my lord, what is yon gentleman? He looks so like a Saracen that, as I am a Christian, I cannot endure him.
C. Fred. Take heed what you say, sir; he's a soldier.
Pen. If you cross him, he'll blow you up with gunpowder.
Abra. In good faith, he looks as if he had had a hand in the treason.[23] I'll take my leave.
C. Fred. Nay, good Sir Abraham, you shall not leave us.
Pen. My lord shall be your warrant.
Abra. My lord shall be my warrant? Troth, I do not see that a lord's warrant is better than any other man's, unless it be to lay one by the heels. I shall stay here, and ha' my head broke, and then I ha' my mends in my own hands; and then my lord's warrant will help me to a plaister, that's all.
C. Fred. Come, come; captain, pray shake the hand of acquaintance with this gentleman: he is in bodily fear of you.
Capt. Pouts. Sir, I use not to bite any man.
Abra. Indeed, sir, that would show you are no gentleman. I would you would bid me be covered. I am a knight. I was knighted o'purpose to come a-wooing to Mistress Lucida, the middle sister, Sir John Worldly's second daughter, and she said she would have me, if I could make her a lady, and I can do't now. O, here she comes.
Enter Sir John Worldly, Master Strange, Kate, and Lucida with a willow garland.
C. Fred. My bride will never be ready, I think. Here are the other sisters.
Pen. Look you, my lord: there's Lucida wears the willow garland for you, and will so go to church, I hear. And look you, captain, that's the merchant.
Abra. Now doth the pot of love boil in my bosom:
Cupid doth blow the fire; and——
I cannot rhyme to bosom; but I'll go reason with her.
Sir J. Wor. You'll make her jointure of that five hundred, you say, that is your inheritance, Master Strange?
Strange. Sir, I will.
Sir J. Wor. Kate, do you love him?
Kate. Yes, faith, father, with all my heart.
Sir J. Wor. Take hands: kiss him. Her portion is four thousand.
Good morrow, my son Count: you stay long for your bride;
But this is the day that sells her, and she
Must come forth like my daughter and your wife.
I pray, salute this gentleman as your brother;
This morn shall make him so, and though, his habit
But speak him citizen, I know his worth
To be gentle in all parts. Captain!
Capt. Pouts. Sir.
Sir J. Wor. Captain, I could have been contented well,
You should have married Kate.
Kate. So could not Kate.
[Aside.]
Sir J. Wor. You have an honourable title.
A soldier is a very honourable title:
A captain is a commander of soldiers;
But look you, captain; captains have no money;
Therefore the Worldlys must not match with captains.
Capt. Pouts. So, sir, so.
Sir J. Wor. There are brave wars.
Capt. Pouts. Where?
Sir J. Wor. Find them out, brave captain.
Win honour and get money; by that time
I'll get a daughter for my noble captain.
Capt. Pouts. Good, sir, good.
Sir J. Wor. Honour is honour, but it is no money.
This is the tumbler, then, must catch the coney.
[Aspiciens Strange.
Capt. Pouts. Thou art an old[24] fellow. Are you a merchant, sir?
Strange. I shame not to say yes. Are you a soldier, sir?
Abra. A soldier, sir? O God! Ay, he is a captain.
Strange. He may be so, and yet no soldier, sir;
For as many are soldiers, that are no captains,
So many are captains, that are no soldiers.
Capt. Pouts. Right, sir: and as many are citizens that are no cuckolds——
Strange. So many are cuckolds that are no citizens. What ail you, sir, with your robustious looks?
Capt. Pouts. I would be glad to see for my money: I have paid for my standing.
Strange. You are the nobler captain, sir;
For I know many that usurp that name,
Whose standings pay for them.
Capt. Pouts. You are a peddler.
Strange. You are a pot-gun.
Capt. Pouts. Merchant, I would thou hadst an iron tail,
Like me.
C. Fred. Fie, captain! You are to blame.
Pen. Nay, God's will! You are to blame indeed, if my lord say so.
Capt. Pouts. My lord's an ass, and you are another.
Abra. Sweet Mistress Luce, let you and I withdraw:
This is his humour. Send for the constable!
Capt. Pouts. Sirrah, I'll beat you with a pudding on the 'Change.
Strange. Thou dar'st as well kiss the wide-mouthed cannon
At his discharging, as perform as much
As thou dar'st speak; for, soldier, you shall know,
Some can use swords, that wear 'em not for show.
Kate. Why, captain, though ye be a man of war, you cannot subdue affection. You have no alacrity in your eye, and you speak as if you were in a dream. You are of so melancholy and dull a disposition, that on my conscience you would never get children; nay, nor on my body neither; and what a sin were it in me, and a most pregnant sign of concupiscence, to marry a man that wants the mettle of generation, since that is the blessing ordained for marriage, procreation the only end of it. Besides, if I could love you, I shall be here at home, and you in Cleveland abroad—I among the bold Britons, and you among the hot-shots.
Sir J. Wor. No more puffing, captain;
Leave batteries with your breath: the short is this.
This worthy count this morning makes my son,
And with that happy marriage this proceeds.
Worldly's my name, worldly must be my deeds.
Capt. Pouts. I will pray for civil wars, to cut thy throat
Without danger, merchant. I will turn pirate,
But I'll be reveng'd on thee.
Strange. Do, captain, do:
A halter will take up our quarrel then.
Capt. Pouts. 'Swounds! I'll be reveng'd upon ye all!
The strange adventure thou art now to make
In that small pinnace, is more perilous
Than any hazard thou could'st undergo.
Remember, a scorn'd soldier told thee so.
[Exit Captain Pouts.
Strange. Go, walk the captain, good Sir Abraham.
Abra. Good faith, sir, I had rather walk your horse.
I will not meddle with him. I would not keep
Him company in his drink for a world.
Sir J. Wor. But
What good do you, Sir Abraham, on my daughter?
I could be e'en content, my Lucida
Would skip your wit and look upon your wealth,
And this one day let Hymen crown ye all.
Abra. O no, she laughs at me and scorns my suit:
For she is wilder and more hard withal,
Than beast or bird, or tree, or stony wall.
Kate. Ha! God-a-mercy, old Hieronimo.[25]
Abra. Yet she might love me for my lovely eyes.
C. Fred. Ay, but perhaps your nose she doth despise.
Abra. Yet might she love me for my dimpled chin.
Pen. Ay, but she sees your beard is very thin.
Abra. Yet might she love me for my proper body.
Strange. Ay, but she thinks you are an errant noddy.
Abra. Yet might she love me, 'cause I am an heir.
Sir J. Wor. Ay, but perhaps she doth not like your ware.
Abra. Yet might she love me in despite of all.
Luc. Ay, but indeed I cannot love at all.
Sir J. Wor. Well, Luce, respect Sir Abraham, I charge you.
Luc. Father, my vow is pass'd: whilst the earl lives,
I ne'er will marry, nor will pine for him.
It is not him I love now, but my humour;
But since my sister he hath made his choice,
This wreath of willow, that begirds my brows,
Shall never cease to be my ornament,
'Till he be dead, or I be married to him.
Pen. Life! my lord; you had best marry 'em all three. They'll never be content else.
C. Fred. I think so, too.
Sir J. Wor. These are impossibilities. Come, Sir Abraham.
A little time will wear out this rash vow.
Abra. Shall I but hope?
Luc. O, by no means. I cannot endure these round breeches: I am ready to swoon at them.
Kate. The hose are comely.
Luc. And then his left leg: I never see it, but I think on a plum-tree.
Abra. Indeed, there's reason there should be some difference in my legs, for one cost me twenty pounds more than the other.
Luc. In troth, both are not worth half the money.
C. Fred. I hold my life, one of them was broke, and cost so much the healing.
Abra. Right hath your lordship said; 'twas broke indeed
At foot-ball in the university.
Pen. I know he is in love by his verse-vein.
Strange. He cannot hold out on't: you shall hear.
Abra. Well, since I am disdain'd, off garters blue!
Which signify Sir Abram's love was true;
Off, cypress black! for thou befits not me;
Thou art not cypress of the cypress-tree,
Befitting lovers. Out, green shoe-strings, out!
Wither in pocket, since my Luce doth pout.
Gush, eyes; thump, hand; swell, heart; buttons, fly open!
Thanks, gentle doublet, else my heart had broken.
Now to thy father's country house at Babram
Hide post; there pine and die, poor, poor Sir Abram.
Omnes. O doleful dump!
[Music plays.
Sir J. Wor. Nay, you shall stay the wedding. Hark, the music!
Your bride is ready.
C. Fred. Put spirit in your fingers! louder still,
And the vast air with your enchantments fill.
[Exeunt omnes.