Beaumont and Fletcher's Works, Vol. 08 of 10

by Francis Beaumont; John Fletcher

Jaq. Sir, this is from your wonted course at home,
When did ye there keep such inordinate hours?
Goe to bed late? start thrice? and call on me?
Would you were from this place; our Countrey sleeps,
Although they were but of that moderate length
That might maintain us in our daily work,
Yet were they sound and sweet.
Gent. I Jaques, there we dreamt not of our Wives, we lay together;
And needed not; now at length my Cozens words,
So truly meant, mixt with thy timely prayers
So often urged, to keep me at my home,
Condemn me quite.
Ja. 'Twas not your fathers course:
He liv'd and dy'd in Orleance, where he had
His Vines as fruitful as experience
(Which is the art of Husbandry) could make;
He had his presses for 'em, and his wines
Were held the best, and out-sold other Mens,
His corn and cattel serv'd the neighbor Towns
With plentiful provision, yet his thrift
Could miss one Beast amongst the heard;
He rul'd more where he liv'd, than ever you will here.
Gent. 'Tis true, why should my Wife then, 'gainst my good,
Perswade me to continue in this course?
Ja. Why did you bring her hither at the first,
Before you warm'd her blood with new delights?
Our Countrey sports could have [contented her;
When you first married her a] puppet-play
Pleas'd her as well as now the tilting doth.
She thought her self brave in a bugle chain,
Where Orient pearl will scarce content her now.
Gent. Sure Jaques, she sees something for my good
More than I do; she oft will talk to me
Of Offices, and that she shortly hopes,
By her acquaintance with the friends she hath,
To get a place shall many times outweigh
Our great expences, and if this be so—
Ja. Think better of her words, she doth deceive you,
And only for her vain and sensual ends
Perswade ye thus. Let me be set to dwell
For ever naked in the barest soil,
So you will dwell from hence.
Gent. I see my folly,
Pack up my stuffe, I will away this morne.
Haste—haste.
Ja. I, now I see your Father's honors
Trebling upon you, and the many prayers
The Countrey spent for him, which almost now
Begun to turn to curses, turning back,
And falling like a [timely] shower
Upon ye.
Gent. Goe, call [up] my Wife.
Ja. But shall she not prevail,
And sway you, as she oft hath done before?
Gent. I will not hear her, but raile on her,
Till I be ten miles off.
Ja. If you be forty,
'Twill not be worse Sir:
Gent. Call her up.
Ja. I will Sir. [Exit.
Gent. Why what an Ass was I that such a thing
As a Wife is could rule me!
Know not I that woman was created for the man,
That her desires, nay all her thoughts should be
As his are? is my sense restor'd at length?
Now she shall know, that which she should desire,
She hath a husband that can govern her,

Enter Wife.

If her desires leads me against my will;
Are you come?
Wife. What sad unwonted course
Makes you raise me so soon, that went to bed
So late last-night.
Gent. O you shall goe to bed sooner hereafter,
And be rais'd again at thrifty hours:
In Summer time wee'l walk
An hour after our Supper, and to bed,
In Winter you shall have a set at Cards,
And set your Maids to work.
Wife. What do you mean?
Gent. I will no more of your new tricks, your honors,
Your Offices, and all your large preferments,
Which still you beat into my ears, hang o'er me,
I'll leave behind for others, the great sway
Which I shall bear at Court: my living here
With countenance of your honoured friends,
I'll be content to lose: for you speak this
Only that you may still continue here
In wanton ease: and draw me to consume,
In cloaths and other things idle for shew,
That which my Father got with honest thrift.
Wife. Why, who hath been with you Sir,
That you talk thus out of Frame.
Gent. You make a fool of me:
You provide one to bid me forth to supper,
And make me promise; then must some one or other
Invite you forth, if you have born your self
Loosely to any Gentleman in my sight
At home, you ask me how I like the carriage,
Whether it were not rarely for my good,
And open'd not a way to my preferment?
Come, I perceive all: talk not, we'll away.
Wife. Why Sir, you'll stay till the next triumph
Day be past?
Gent. I, you have kept me here triumphing
This seven years, and I have ridden through the streets,
And bought embroyder'd hose and foot-cloths too,
To shew a subjects zeal, I rode before
In this most gorgeous habit, and saluted
All the acquaintance I could espie
From any window, these are wayes ye told me
To raise me; I see all: make you ready straight,
And in that Gown which you came first to Town in,
Your safe-guard, cloak, and your hood sutable:
Thus on a double gelding shall you amble,
And my man Jaques shall be set before you.
Wife. But will you goe?
Gent. I will.
Wife. And shall I too?
Gent. And you shall too.
Wife. But shall I by this light?
Gent. Why by this light you shall.
Wife. Then by this light
You have no care of your Estate, and mine.
Have we been seven years venturing in a Ship,
And now upon return, with a fair wind,
And a calm Sea, full fraught with our own wishes,
Laden with wealth and honor to the brim,
And shall we flye away and not receive it?
Have we been tilling, sowing, labouring,
With pain and charge a long and tedious winter,
And when we see the corn above the ground,
Youthful as is the Morn and [the] full eare,
That promises to stuffe our spacious garners,
Shall we then let it rot, and never reap it?
Gent. Wife talke no more, your Rhetorick comes too late,
I am inflixible; and how dare you
Adventure to direct my course of life?
Was not the husband made to rule the Wife?
Wife. 'Tis true: but where the man doth miss his way,
It is the Womans part to set him right;
So Fathers have a power to guide their Sons
In all their courses, yet you oft have seen
Poor little children, that have both their eyes,
Lead their blind Fathers.
Gen. She has a plaguy wit,
I say you'r but a little piece of man.
Wife. But such a piece, as being tane away,
Man cannot last: the fairest and tallest ship,
That ever sail'd, is by a little piece of the same
Wood, steer'd right, and turn'd about.
Gen. 'Tis true she sayes, her answers stand with reason.
Wife. But Sir, your Cozin put this in your head,
Who is an enemy to your preferment,
Because I should not take place of his wife;
Come, by this kiss, thou shalt not go sweet heart.
Gen. Come, by this kiss I will go Sweet-heart,
On with your riding stuffe: I know your tricks,
And if preferment fall ere you be ready,
'Tis welcome, else adieu the City life.
Wife. Well, Sir, I will obey.
Gent. About it then.
Wife. To please your humor I would dress my self,
In the most loathsome habit you could name,
Or travel any whether o're the World,
If you command me, it shall ne'r be said,
The frailty of a woman, whose weak mind,
Is often set on loose delights, and shews,
Hath drawn her husband to consume his state,
In the vain hope of that which never fell.
Gen. About it then, women are pleasant creatures,
When once a man begins to know himself.
Wife. But hark you Sir, because I will be sure,
You shall have no excuse, no word to say
In your defence hereafter; when you see
What honors were prepar'd for you and me,
Which you thus willingly have thrown away,
I tell you I did look for present honor,
This morning for you, which I know had come:
But if they do not come ere I am ready
(Which I will be the sooner least they should)
When I am once set in a countrey life,
Not all the power of earth shall alter me,
Not all your prayers or threats shall make me speak
The least words to my honorable friends,
To do you any grace.
Gent. I will not wish it.
Wife. And never more hope to be honorable.
Gent. My hopes are lower.
Wife. As I live you shall not,
You shall be so far from the name of noble
That you shall never see a Lord again;
You shall not see a Maske, or Barriers,
Or Tilting, or a solemn Christning,
Or a great Marriage, or new Fire-works,
Or any bravery; but you shall live
At home, bespotted with your own lov'd durt,
In scurvy cloaths, as you were wont to doe,
And to content you, I will live so too.
Gen. Tis all I wish, make haste, the day draws on,
It shall be my care to see your Stuffe packt up.
Wife. It shall be my care to gull you: you shall stay. [Ex. Gen.
And more than so, intreat me humbly too,
You shall have honors presently; Maria.

Enter Maria.

Mar. Madam.
Wife. Bring hither, pen, ink, and paper.
Ma. 'Tis here.
Wife. Your Master will not stay,
Unless preferment come within an hour.
Mar. Let him command one of the City gates,
In time of mutiny, or you may provide him,
To be one of the counsel for invading,
Some savage Countrey to plant Christian faith.
Wife. No, no, I have it for him, call my page;
Now, my dear husband, there it is will fit you. [Ex. Maria.
And when the world shall see what I have done,
Let it not move the spleen of any Wife,
To make an Ass of her beloved husband,
Without good ground, but if they will be drawn
To any reason by you, do not gull them;
But if they grow conceited of themselves,
And be fine Gentlemen, have no mercy,
Publish them to the World, 'twill do them good
When they shall see their follies understood,
Go bear these Letters to my servant,
And bid him make haste, I will dress my self,
In all the Journey-Cloaths I us'd before,
Not to ride, but to make the Laughter more. [Exit.

Enter Gentleman, and Jaques.

Gent. Is all packt up?
Ja. All, all Sir, there is no tumbler
Runs through his hoop with more dexterity,
Then I about this business: 'Tis a day,
That I have long long'd to see.
Gent. Come, Where's my Spurs?
Ja. Here, Sir, and now 'tis come.
Gent. I, Jaques, now,
I thank my fates, I can command my Wife.
Ja. I am glad to see it, Sir.
Gent. I do not love alwayes,
To be made a puppie, Jaques.
Ja. But, yet me thinks your Worship does not look,
Right like a Countrey Gentleman.
Gent. I will, give me my t'other hat.
Ja. Here.
Gent. So, my Jerkin.
Ja. Yes, Sir.
Gent. On with it Jaques, thou and I
Will live so finely in the Countrey, Jaques,
And have such pleasant walks into the Woods
A mornings, and then bring home riding-rods,
And walking staves—
Ja. And I will bear them, Sir,
And Skurdge-sticks for the children.
Gent. So thou shalt,
And thou shalt do all, over-see my Work-folkes,
And at the weeks end pay them all their wages.
Ja. I will, Sir, so your Worship give me Money.
Gent. Thou shalt receive all too: give me my Drawers.
Ja. They are ready, Sir.
Gent. And I will make thy Mistriss,
My wife, look to her landrie, and her dairy,
That we may have our linnen clean on Sundayes.
Ja. And Holy-dayes.
Gent. I, and ere we walk about the Grounds
Provide our break-fast,
Or she shall smoke, I'll have her a good huswife;
She shall not make a voyage to her Sisters,
But she shall live at home,
And feed her pullen fat, and see her Maides
In bed before her, and lock all the doors.
Ja. Why that will be a life for Kings and Queens.
Gen. Give me my Scarfe with the great Button quickly.
Ja. 'Tis done, Sir.
Gen. Now my Mittens.
Ja. Here they are, Sir.
Gen. 'Tis well: now my great dagger.
Ja. There.
Gen. Why so; thus it should be, now my riding rod.
Ja. There's nothing wanting, Sir.
Gen. Another, man, to stick under my girdle.
Ja. There it is.
Gent. All is well.
Ja. Why now methinks your Worship looks
Like to your self, a Man of means and credit,
So did your grave and famous Ancestors,
Ride up and down to Fairs, and cheapen cattel.
Gent. Goe, hasten your Mistriss, Sirra.
Ja. It shall be done. [Ex. Jaques.

Enter Servant and Page.

Ser. Who's that? who's that Boy?
Page. I think it be my Master.
Ser. Who, he that walkes in gray, whisking his riding rod?
Pag. Yes, Sir, 'tis he.
Ser. 'Tis he indeed; he is prepar'd
For his new journey; when I wink upon you,
Run out and tell the Gentleman 'tis time—
Monsieur good day.
Gen. Monsieur, your Mistriss is within, but yet not ready.
Ser. My business is with you, Sir; 'tis reported,
I know not whether by some enemy
Maliciously, that envies your great hopes,
And would be ready to sow discontents
Betwixt his Majesty, and you, or truely,
Which on my faith I would be sorry for,
That you intend to leave the Court in haste.
Gen. Faith, Sir, within this half hour. Jaques?
Jaques within: Sir?
Gent. Is my Wife ready?
Ja. Presently.
Ser. But Sir,
I needs must tell you, as I am your friend,
You should have ta'en your journey privater,
For 'tis already blaz'd about the Court.
Gen. Why Sir, I hope it is no Treason, is it?
Ser. 'Tis true, Sir, but 'tis grown the common talk,
There's no discovery else held, and in the presence
All the Nobility and Gentry,
Have nothing in their mouths but only this,
Monsieur Marine, that noble Gentleman,
Is now departing hence: every Mans face
Looks ghastly on his fellows; such a sadness
(Before this day) I ne'er beheld in Court,
Mens hearts begin to fail them when they hear it,
In expectation of the great event
That needs must follow it, pray Heaven it be good!
Gen. Why, I had rather all their hearts should fail,
Than I stay here until my purse fail me.
Ser. But yet you are a Subject, and beware,
I charge you by the love I bear to you,
How you do venture rashly on a course,
To make your Sovereign jealous of your deeds,
For Princes jealousies, where they love most,
Are easily found, but they be hardly lost.
Gen. Come, these are tricks, I smell 'em, I will goe.
Ser. Have I not still profest my self your friend?
Gen. Yes, but you never shewd it to me yet.
Ser. But now I will, because I see you wise,
And give ye thus much light into a business,
That came to me but now, be resolute,
Stand stifly to it that you will depart,
And presently.
Gen. Why so I mean to doe.
Ser. And by this light you may be what you will;
Will you be secret, Sir?
Gen. Why? What's the matter?
Ser. The King does fear you.
Gent. How?
Ser. And is now in Counsel;
Gent. About me?
Ser. About you, and you be wise,
You'll find he's in Counsel about you:
His Counsellors have told him all the truth.
Gent. What truth?
Ser. Why, that which now he knows too well.
Gent. What is't?
Ser. That you have followed him seven years,
With a great train: and though he have not grac't you,
Yet you have div'd into the hearts of thousands,
With liberality and noble carriage;
And if you should depart home unprefer'd,
All discontented, and seditious spirits
Would flock to you, and thrust you into action:
With whose help, and your Tenants, who doth not know
(If you were so dispos'd:)
How great a part of this yet fertile peaceful Realm of France
You might make desolate? but when the King
Heard this—
Gent. What said he?
Ser. Nothing, but shook,
As never Christian Prince did shake before.
And to be short, you may be what you will
But be not ambitious Sir, sit down
With moderate honors, least you make your self
More fear'd.
Gent. I know, Sir, what I have to doe
In mine own business.

Enter Longavile.