Enter Gent. Wife.
Many sweet morrows to my worthy Wife.
Wife. 'Tis well, and aptly given, as much for you,
But to my present business, which is money—
Gent. Lady, I have none left.
Wife. I hope you dare not say so, nor imagine so base and low,
A thought: I have none left?
Are these words fitting for a man of worth,
And one of your full credit? Do you know
The place you live in? me? and what I labour
For, you? and your advancement?
Gent. Yes my dearest.
Wife. And do you pop me off with this slight answer,
In troth I have none left? in troth you must have;
Nay stare not, 'tis most true, send speedily
To all that love you, let your people flye
Like thunder, through the City,
And not return under five thousand Crowns.
Try all, take all, let not a [wealthy] Merchant be untempted
Or any one that hath the name of Money,
Take up at any Use, give Band, or Land,
Or mighty Statutes, able by their strength,
To tye up Sampson, were he now alive,
There must be money gotten; for be perswaded,
If we fall now, or be but seen to shrink,
Under our fair beginnings, 'tis our ruin,
And then good night to all, (but our disgrace)
Farewel the hope of coming happiness,
And all the aims we levied at so long.
Are ye not mov'd at this? no sense of want,
Towards your self yet breeding? be old,
And common; jaded to the eyes
Of Grooms, and Pages, Chamber-maids, and Guarders,
And when you have done, put your poor house in order
And hang your self, for such must be the end
Of him that willingly forsakes his hopes
And hath a joy to tumble to his ruin.
All that I say is certain, if ye fail
Do not [impute] me with it, I am clear.
Gent. Now heaven forbid I should do wrong to you
My dearest Wife, and Madam; yet give leave
To your poor creature to unfold himself.
You know my debts are many more than means,
My bands not taken in, my friends at home
Drawn dry with these expences, my poor Tenants
More full of want than we, then what new course
Can I beget, to raise those crowns by? speak,
And I shall execute.
Wife. Pray tell me true,
Have you not Land in the Countrey?
Gent. Pardon me, I had forgot it.
Wife. Sir, you must remember it,
There is no remedy, this Land must be,
In Paris e'r to morrow night.
Gent. It shall, let me consider, some 300 acres
Will serve the turn.
Wife. 'Twill furnish at all points,
Now you speak like your self, and know like him,
That means to be [a] man, suspect no less
For the return will give ye five for one,
You shall be great to morrow, I have said it.
Farewel, and see this business be a-foot,
With expedition. [Exit Wife.
Gent. Health, all joy, and honor
Wait on my lovely Wife. What? Jaques, Jaques.
Enter Jaques.
Jaq. Sir, did you call?
Gent. I did so, hie thee Jaques.
Down to the Bank, and there to some good Merchant
(Conceive me well, good Jaques, and be private)
Offer 300 acres of my Land:
Say it is choice and fertile, ask upon it
Five thousand Crowns, this is the business
I must employ thee in, be wise and speedy.
Jaq. Sir, do not do this.
Gent. Knave, I must have money.
Jaq. If you have money thus, your knave must tell ye
You will not have a foot of Land left, be more wary,
And more friend to your self, this honest Land
Your Worship has discarded, has been true,
And done you loyal service.
Gent. Gentle Jaques,
You have a merry wit, employ it well
About the business you have now in hand.
When ye come back, enquire me in the Presence,
If [not in] the Tennis-Court, or at my house. [Exit.
Jaq. If this vain hold, I know where to enquire ye.
Five thousand Crowns! this, with good husbandry,
May hold a month out, then 5000 more,
And more Land a bleeding for't, as many more,
And more Land laid aside. God and St. Dennis
Keep honest minded young men batchelors.
'Tis strange, my Master should be yet so young
A puppy, that he cannot see his fall
And got so near the Sun. I'll to his Cosin.
And once more tell him on't, if he fail,
Then to my Mortgage, next unto my sale. [Exit.
Enter Longovile, Bewford, and the Servant.
Serv. Gentlemen, hold on discourse a while,
I shall return with knowledge how and where
We shall have best access unto my Mistriss
To tender your devotions. [Exit.
Long. Be it so:
Now to our first discourse.
Bew. I prethee peace;
Thou canst not be so bad, or make me know
Such things are living, do not give thy self
So common and so idle, so open vile,
So great a wronger of thy worth, so low,
I cannot, nor I must not credit thee.
Lon. Now by this light I am a whoremaster,
An open, and an excellent whormaster,
And take a special glory that I am so:
I thank my Stars I am a whoremaster,
And such a one as dare be known and seen,
And pointed at to be a noble wencher.
Bew. Do not let all ears hear this, hark [y]e] Sir,
I am my self a whoremaster, I am
Believe it Sir (in private be it spoken)
I love a whore directly, most men are wenchers,
And have profest the Science, few men
That [look] upon ye now, but whoremasters,
Or have a full desire to be so.
Lon. This is noble.
Bew. It is without all question, being private,
And held as needful as intelligence,
But being once discover'd, blown abroad,
And known to common senses, 'tis no more
Than geometrical rules in Carpenters,
That only know some measure of an Art,
But are not grounded: be no more deceived,
I have a conscience to reclaim you, Sir.
Mistake me not: I do not bid you leave your whore
Or less to love her; forbid it,
I should be such a villain to my friend,
Or so unnatural: 'twas never harbor'd here,
Learn to be secret first, then strike your Deer.
Lon. Your fair instructions, [Mo[n]sieur], I shall learn.
Bew. And you shall have them; I desire your care.
Lon. They are your servants.
Bew. You must not love.
Lon. How Sir?
Bew. I mean a Lady, there's danger.
She hath an Usher and a Waiting Gentlewoman,
A Page, a Coach-man, these are fee'd and fee'd
And yet for all that will be prating.
Lon. So.
Bew. You understand me Sir, they will discover't,
And there is a loss of credit, Table-talk
Will be the end of this, or worse, than that;
Will this be worthy of a Gentleman?
Long. Proceed good Sir.
Bew. Next leave your City Dame;
The best of that Tribe, are most meerly coy,
Or most extreamly foolish, both which vices
Are no great stirrers up, unless in Husbands
That owe this Cattle, fearing her that's coy
To be but seeming, her that's fool too forward.
Lon. This is the rarest fellow, and the soundest,
I mean in knowledge, that e'r wore a Codpiece,
H'as found out that will pass all Italy,
All France and England; to their shames I speak,
And to the griefs of all their Gentlemen,
The noble Theory of Luxury.
Bew. Your patience,
And I will lay before your eyes a course
That I my self found out, 'tis excellent,
Easie, and full of freedome.
Long. O good Sir,
You rack me till I know it.
Bew. This it is,
When your desire is up, your blood well heated
And apt for sweet encounter, chuse the night,
And with the night your Wench, the streets have store,
There seize upon her, get her to your chamber,
Give her a cardecew, 'tis royal payment;
When ye are dull, dismiss her, no man knows,
Nor she her self, who hath encountred her.
Lon. O but their faces.
Bew. Nere talke of faces:
The night allows her equal with a Dutchess,
Imagination doth all think her fair,
And great, clapt in Velvet, she is so,
Sir, I have tryed those, and do find it certain
It never failes me, 'tis but twelve nights since
My last experience.
Lon. O my meiching Varlet, I'll fit ye as I live.
'Tis excellent, I'll be your Scholar Sir.
Enter Lady and Servant.
Wife. You are fairly welcome both: troth Gentlemen
You have been strangers, I could chide you for't,
And taxe ye with unkindness, What's the news?
The Town was never empty of some novelty;
Servant, What's your intelligence?
Ser. Faith nothing.
I have not heard of any worth relating.
Bew. Nor I sweet Lady.
Lon. Then give me attention,
Monsieur Shattillion's mad.
Wife. Mad?
Lon. Mad as May-butter,
And which is more, mad for a Wench.
Lady. 'Tis strange, and full of pity.
Lon. All that comes near him
He thinks are come of purpose to betray him,
Being full of strange conceit: the wench he loved
Stood very near the Crown.
Lady. Alass good Monsieur;
A' was a proper man, and fair demean'd,
A Person worthy of a better temper.
Lon. He is strong opinion'd that the Wench he lov'd
Remains close prisoner by the Kings command:
Fearing her title, when the poor grieved Gentlewoman
Follows him much lamenting, and much loving
In hope to make him well, he knows her not,
Nor any else that comes to visit him.
Lady. Let's walk in Gentlemen, and there discourse
His further miseries, you shall stay dinner,
In truth you must obey.
Om. We are your servants. [Exeunt.
Enter Couzen.
Cous. There's no good to be done, no cure to be wrought
Upon my desperate Kinsman: I'll to horse
And leave him to the fools whip, misery.
I shall recover twenty miles this night,
My horse stands ready, I'll away with speed.